


Gotta be damned because I want it all

by camichats



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bathroom Sex, Car Sex, Closeted Character, Communication, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Domestic Disputes, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Jealousy, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Minor Injuries, Moving In Together, NHL Trade(s), News Media, Outing, Pining, Relationship Reveal, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content, Stanley Cup, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:33:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24531592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camichats/pseuds/camichats
Summary: Whiskey had managed a miracle by landing himself with the Aces. It was less of a miracle that he was paying too much attention to Parse, but it all works out in the end-- after a gone wrong first kiss, a poorly timed confession, and a trade to a new team, of course.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Connor "Whiskey" Whisk
Comments: 47
Kudos: 110





	1. Haven't come out of my cage and I've been doing just fine

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT HOCKEY. AT ALL. That includes the draft, playoffs, how trades work... pretty much everything you can think of, I have no idea. Just accept whatever happens as bending the truth for the plot.

Whiskey knew about pressure and expectations. When he got to the Aces, everyone acted like he was just starting to feel it. 

When he told his parents he wanted to play pro hockey, they'd... tried. They'd tried to be supportive. There had been a month long period between him telling them and them agreeing to it, when they tried to change his mind. ' _We live so far west, Connor. Any chance you have will be if you claw your way up, fighting tooth and nail for every inch. You'll have to prove that you're twice as good as they're expecting.'_ He knew it was because they wanted him to be sure. It wasn't going to be easy, like taking P.E. or joining the baseball team at school. He was going to have to travel, practice every free moment; he was going to be tired year round. 

' _Hockey is expensive. If you change your mind, we won't be able to pay for a different extracurricular for you,'_ Mom said, and she was so worried about the possibility of him changing his mind that she didn't stop to think about how Connor knew what he wanted-- he wasn't exactly what someone would call fickle. His parents made sure, right from the start, that he knew the kind of commitment he was getting into, and he dove into it headfirst. He couldn't explain the exhilaration that came from being on ice, from racing around on his skates and keeping an eye on the puck and other players. 

To be fair, it didn't start to _feel_ like pressure until he was sixteen and everyone was talking about him. Who was his high school sweetheart? How good were his chances in the draft? Would he crack under the pressure like Jack Zimmermann had? (Zimmermann, who everyone constantly compared him to. Apparently the way they moved on the ice was similar; their focus on the ice was similar, and Connor didn't give two shits.) Was he at a disadvantage living where he was instead of in Canada or along the east coast? He'd talked to reporters before and watched what was said about him to see how it was coming along, but now it felt like it was everywhere. Reporters fucking everywhere, picking him apart. He was struggling to keep his grades up as it was without worrying about the latest article that said they didn't think he was going to make it to the next draft. His parents told him how proud they were of him, his friends said they expected for him to be the best, and more than all of that was the burning need inside to prove himself. 

He'd started pushing himself when he was twelve and telling his parents that he wanted to play hockey for the rest of his life, and he was still pushing himself when he made it first in the draft and got to be with the Aces. Las Vegas Aces. It was like the name was hovering in bold at the forefront of his mind, occasionally giving itself a shake when it thought he hadn't freaked out about it recently enough. 

**Las Vegas Aces, Captain Kent Parson.**

This... was a dream come true. Nothing less. Kent Parson had won a Cup his rookie year. Kent Parson was his Captain, and Whiskey had always loved watching the way he moved on his skates-- like he'd been _born_ to it. 

Scraps was housing him for this first year, and apparently him and Kent were tight. So Kent Parson, living legend, was there when Whiskey was moving in. Not that he had much to move in. His parents had been reluctant to admit that this was a permanent move (hopefully he wouldn't get traded, the Aces were _exactly_ where he wanted to be), so he didn't bring much with him. But he didn't want to bring much anyways. He didn't need school shit; he didn't want to poke holes in Scraps's wall with posters, and he didn't have any books or movies that he couldn't bear to part with. He brought clothes. Music. One framed picture of him and Jenny because she'd given it to him as a going away present, and she was his best friend. 

All of this was to say that his first conversation with Kent was about pressure. That wasn't what he'd been hoping for, but maybe it was better than a nondescript 'welcome to the team, don't party too hard' speech. Kent was leaning against the doorway to his room, watching nonjudgmentally as he unpacked. There was a backwards snapback atop golden curls, and Whiskey had plenty of practice in not staring. "How do you like Vegas?" he asked as an opener. 

Whiskey shrugged. The climate was familiar, but he didn't care to explore the city. He was here for hockey, not to get wasted and gamble his signing bonus away (he'd paid for Jenny's meal plan at college, because they had both been planning to go to Samwell if the draft didn't work out). 

"Look kid-" 

"I'm not a kid." He knew that he was compared to everyone else, but he didn't want for them to think of him that way. He was younger, yes, but not a kid. 

"Sure," Kent said with an easy going smirk that, while appearing sincere, Whiskey thought was appeasing. "What I mean is, there's a lot of eyes on you for getting first in the draft and picking a team out here." 'Out here'. So far west. Whiskey didn't get why everyone had such a stick up their ass about it. 

All he said about it was, "You did it." 

"Yeah, and it felt like everyone was waiting for me to fail. You're gonna get a lot of questions about how you're dealing with the pressure dude, and I want you to know that it's not big deal. We're not dropping you if we don't win a Stanley Cup this year." 

"You won the Cup your first year," Whiskey said. 

The smirk was back. "See? Shit like that is why I don't want you to worry. It's no big deal, man. If we get it this year, awesome. If not, whatever, there's always next year. Especially for you, there's always next year." 

It was obvious that Kent was waiting for a response, so Whiskey nodded. He didn't agree, but he nodded. 

"Now that that shit's outta the way, I'm looking forward to having you on the team. Like the way you shred the ice, man." He pushed himself off from the door frame. "See you at practice." 

Whiskey nodded, and Kent left. He didn't realize that he'd been holding his breath until he was alone again. Kent could say all day long that it would be fine if he fucked up, but Whiskey knew the truth of the matter: you get one shot. Maybe not one shot at the Cup, but one shot at the big leagues to prove yourself. 

* * *

Whiskey didn't know how rookie years were supposed to go, but he was pretty sure you didn't get bumped up to first line after a week and a half of practice. He was pretty sure the coaches didn't tell the captain that they should take an extra hour after practice for the next few days, just the two of them. He was more than sure that the captain of the team didn't usually have the extra time to spend an hour with every rookie. The coaches said it was going to be a few days, but Whiskey knew that that was a first estimate, not a solid timeline. They wanted to see how well this practices went-- wanted to see if the way they clicked would turn into them being a _pair_ . If it didn't work out, Whiskey might stay on first line, but the extra practices would stop. If they started to do well, they'd probably be encouraged-- that's the way they always phrased it; 'you're _encouraged_ to take these extra practices and push yourself harder but you don't _have_ to'-- to spend as much time on the ice as they needed until they had a sixth sense for where the other one was on the ice. They'd get the second option, that much was obvious from how they started performing during practice. 

He didn't need anyone to say the words to his face for him to know that they were thinking about Zimmermann when they saw him and Parse skating together. _Parse and Zimms_ , that's the dynamic everyone wanted. And they always said it together, like it was one word. Whiskey didn't give a shit because he was here and Zimmermann was at college. It would be another two years before he signed on with anyone, and by that point, Whiskey wouldn't be dispensable; he'd make sure of it. 

And all the while, Parse was telling him not to stress. Focus, but don't worry. Take it one practice at a time, don't worry about playoffs because they didn't even know if they'd be in them yet. (The Aces had gotten to the playoffs every years since Parse signed on, but sure, this year-- the year that Parse and Whiskey were tearing up the ice together-- was going to be the year that they didn't make it.) 

They were in the middle of one of those hour-after practices when Whiskey got a phone call. He'd dragged his bag out of the locker room after official practice, so he skated over, peeled off a glove, and fished his phone out. Jenny. He couldn't just ignore a call from her. "One second," he told Parse, who nodded, seemingly unbothered by the interruption. He slid it to answer and held it up to his ear. "What's up?" 

"Uh, we had plans to watch Resident Evil, remember? You weren't online. And really? Ignoring my texts is a dick move, Whisk." On anyone else, those words would've sounded frustrated, but Jenny was just teasing. 

"I forgot." 

"Dude, it was _your_ pick for movie night." He never forgot movie night. If he needed to cancel, he always told her as soon as he knew he wouldn't make it. "You okay?" 

"I'm at practice." 

"I thought practice ended at four for you. Did I mess up time zones? I googled it, I can't believe I messed it up. Shit dude, hang up before your team gets mad at you!" 

"You're fine, it's an extra practice, just me and Parse." 

"Parse. Parson? Like _Kent Parson_??" she asked, voice climbing higher. Everything that came out after that sounded like it had been said with a single breath. "Dude! Connor! Oh my god!!! Woah woah, wait this isn't, like, a remedial thing, is it? I know you like to be all stoic, but if you're having a breakdown and it's fucking up your playing, it's okay to tell me. I won't tell your parents, and I can try to skype you more often if you think it'll help. Or- god, I should let you get back to practice and you can tell me about it later if you want to." Jenny was the best. Nervous at times, but the best. 

"I'm fine. Sorry I forgot. I should be home in an hour, I'll text you." 

"Okay. Love you! Kick ass out there, Whiskey." 

"Love you." He hung up and tossed his phone back on top of the bag. "Sorry," he said, skating back towards Parse-- who was doing slow circles near the middle of the rink to give Whiskey some privacy. 

"It's fine. Who was it?" 

"Girlfriend," he said, because that was the story they were going with. 

People normally pushed. Not a lot, but they always wanted to know her name or ask how long they'd been together and what she thought about hockey. At the very least, they said some sort of joke to let Whiskey know they were cool with it-- or something like that. But Parse just nodded and said, "Ready for more dumbass drills that we don't need?" 

* * *

Jenny sent him a well wishes text before his game. So did both of his parents. So did each of his four siblings. So did all of his friends from high school. Whiskey didn't bother reading all of them. He barely even read Jenny's. 

Parse was a good captain when he wasn't trying to convince Whiskey not to worry. The pre-game talk boiled down to: we're awesome and they suck so let's kick ass. 

Whiskey knew what kind of attention was on him as he skated onto the ice: is he going to live up to the hype? did he deserve this? He was going to make them regret even thinking those questions. As Jenny liked to say, he was worth all this and more, and it was about time the rest of the world saw that too. 

One goal and one assist when they won the game 2-1. Not bad. He could've done better, but apparently that wasn't a universal opinion based on all the knocks to the helmet and pats on the back the team gave him. 

He checked his phone by rote at the end of the press and showers, but it was more of the same. All the people that sent him well wishes for a good game sent him congratulations. Jenny's text in particular was exuberant, lots of keysmashing, exclamation points, and all caps messages. 

Most of the guys congratulated him on the goal before they left for the night, but fucking Parse had to make it awkward. "Nice game." 

Whiskey nodded, digging his thumb into the arch of his left foot so it wouldn't cramp up on him in the middle of the night. It was always the left foot, and it was always directly after a game and never practice; he didn't know why, but it was annoying. When Parse didn't immediately keep moving, Whiskey said, "That was a sweet shot you made." 

Kent snorted. "Thanks. Looks like it was a damn good decision to put us on a line together." 

"Yeah." 

It was silent for a minute as they went about getting dressed. Their stalls were right next to each other, which meant that Whiskey caught glimpses of tan, muscled skin even though he wasn't looking. His foot was really pissing him off right now because it still didn't feel better. "It's not a big deal if you fuck up at the next game, y'know." 

Whiskey's hands stuttered over his shoelace for a moment, but Parse probably didn't notice. 

"I know it feels like the end of the fucking world if you don't do well, but it's not a big deal. Most rookies don't make it on the team of their choice or make a goal in the first half of the season let alone their first game. Even if you start sucking, no one here's going to care." 

Whiskey got the feeling that Parse was going to keep going unless he agreed with him, so he said, "Yeah." He could feel Parse's eyes on him, and it was clear that he didn't believe Whiskey. It would've been annoying, but he dropped it instead of pushing, and it felt like Whiskey could breathe again. 

* * *

He had a point streak going. No one that he only heard from over the phone noticed. After his first game, the supportive texts had tapered off. His parents still sent them, when they remembered when his games were. They tried, but they didn't follow hockey-- they followed their son. Jenny, on the other hand, knew about all of his games and watched them when she could. Between her school work and getting used to a new state though, Whiskey didn't expect for her to be on top of it. Besides, he didn't need people telling him 'good luck' like it would actually help how he played. 

The other Aces knew about the point streak, and they joked that they'd be making him take vodka shots after each game that he kept it going if he were legal. Parse knew about the point streak, and he was still worried about the stress that Whiskey was supposedly going to crack under. No matter how many times he told Parse that he was fine, he didn't look convinced. He just... he would always fucking smirk and knock his knuckles against Connor's shoulder and say something like, "Whatever you say, man. Wanna grab some coffee?" And Whiskey always wanted to even though he kind of didn't like coffee, but he declined. Parse didn't mean anything by it other than they were becoming a popular duo on the ice and he was Whiskey's captain, but Whiskey didn't do one-on-one outings unless it was with Jenny. 

He shouldn't have been surprised that Kent would keep offering when his streak inevitably ended. The only reason he said yes this time, was because he didn't open with sympathy. They were getting dressed after showers, and he said, "Wanna grab some coffee? We're gonna be on the red-eye flying back, and I don't think I've ever seen you sleep on the plane. Don't worry about it, dude, you'll get used to it after a year or two." 

Whiskey should say no. He didn't want to. Not making a goal this game wasn't a tragedy. They still won the game, and he'd gotten two assists. He'd played his best game, and that was what mattered. "Yeah." He'd figure out what to get once they actually got there. 

It was pretty damn obvious Parse was surprised by him agreeing, but he didn't let it show other than an extra smug smirk on his face as they left. Parse kept up a bit of chatter as they took a cab to the coffeehouse he recommended, but it was about the game they'd just finished, so Whiskey didn't have to pay too much attention. Mostly he looked out the window and didn't shift to accommodate the restlessness his body kept insisting on feeling. 

Whiskey felt like a kid trailing after Parse as they got out of the cab and walked into the coffee shop. He looked at the menu and felt his stomach curl at the idea of drinking anything with espresso in it. There were blended drinks, and those were basically milkshakes, right? Not that he'd had a lot of milkshakes that he could remember since he'd been trying so hard to stay in shape for hockey, but he had vaguely good memories of them. And then he remembered that it wasn't allowed in the current diet plan. 

Parse ordered, then looked over at him expectantly. 

"What?" 

"C'mon and order." 

"I can pay for myself." 

Parse raised an eyebrow-- with that _fucking_ smirk on his face-- and nodded towards the register. 

Whiskey could either deny it again and get embarrassed when Parse insisted, or he could give in. He grit his teeth, then muttered, "Small lemonade, please," to the cashier. He knew that Parse thought he was overreacting. It was a lemonade. It cost, at most, three dollars. Even before Whiskey had gotten his signing bonus, he would've been able to pay for someone else's drink at that price, and Parse had been in the NHL for years now. It wasn't a big deal. He couldn't unclench his jaw. 

Parse didn't make it A Thing, and Whiskey let himself be grateful that he didn't always push. Parse commented on the song playing over the speakers as they waited for their drinks. Something inane about coffee shops playing indie songs instead of pop. "Want to walk back to the hotel?" 

"Sure." 

Parse didn't say anything for a while, and Whiskey hoped that he knew where their hotel was, because he had no idea. You'd think that cities would be the same no matter which side of the country you're from, but apparently not. He might as well have been walking around in _Britain_ for how little he knew what was going on. When he did start talking, Whiskey wished he would've kept his damn mouth shut. "I know this isn't something you want to hear, but you remind me of Jack." 

Whiskey was about to take his chances finding the way back to the hotel by himself, but Kent continued before he could turn the other direction and leave. 

"Not the way you play, but you have this look like you're one bad game away from freaking the fuck out. He nearly died when it got to be too much for him, and I don't want that to happen to you." 

This was not a conversation he ever wanted to have. Pressure wasn't new. He'd lost games before, and he'd been fine. He figured out what he needed to work on, and then he practiced until it wasn't a problem anymore. The stakes were higher now that he was playing pro, but he knew how to deal with it. Some of the guys out there had been playing almost as long as he'd been alive, and he was supposed to be able to match that. If he let himself get too comfortable, he wouldn't be game-ready. He wasn't pushing himself more than he could take and all he wanted was for everyone to shut the fuck up about it. "I'm not suicidal," he said, having to shove the words past his teeth. His jaw felt like it had been welded shut, and he couldn't figure out how to unstick it. 

"Zimms wasn't either. He OD'd on his fucking anxiety meds that he got from the doctor his parents sent him to. It was all legit and that didn't do him any fucking good. He was so out of it that he couldn't think through taking twenty of them wouldn't make him twenty times less anxious. You're doing great out there. You don't need to win every single game to be worth something." It made him feel a little better to see that Kent didn't want to be having this conversation either. It also helped to know that this wasn't about Whiskey. It was about Parse feeling guilty for not helping his friend earlier. One little glimmer from Whiskey made him think of Zimms, and now he was wigging out over it. 

"I don't have anxiety." 

Parse snorted. "Yeah okay." 

It would sound defensive if he repeated it, so he took a sip of the lemonade. He didn't know if it was supposed to taste this sugary or if it was a bad choice by that shop. 

"Look, you don't want to talk about it, and I'm tired of feeling like I'm looking over your shoulder all the damn time." 

"Is there a trick to telling you how to drop it?" Whiskey asked, mostly not joking, but if Parse got upset, he was going to pretend that it was. 

"Just promise me that if it ever gets bad, you'll ask for help. Me, one of the guys, a friend, your parents, I don't care. Just- someone." 

Whiskey could've insisted that he wasn't in a position of _needing_ help-- not now or anytime soon-- but that would've taken longer and Parse would've kept worrying about him to the point that he wanted to avoid him. Avoiding Parse wasn't anything he ever wanted to try and do, so he said, "Fine." Then, when that sounded insincere, he added, "I will." 

Parse nodded, then took a drink of his coffee. "Now that that bullshit's out of the way, do you think that Harvey can keep up with..." he continued on, and they fell back on the safe topic: the other team's stats. They weren't on the home stretch for a playoff's spot yet, but Whiskey had to think ahead to make sure the timeline was solid in his head. 

* * *

They made it to the playoffs, but all Whiskey could think about was the fucking _stupid_ mistake he'd made in the last game. He hadn't missed a good pass that completely since he was fourteen fucking years old. And he'd missed it from _Parse_ of all people. 

The media scrum after that felt like so many layers of _bullshit_ , but he kept on his media smile and answered all of the questions like he was supposed to. 

Parse didn't ask him how he was afterwards, and Whiskey almost wished that he drank alcohol because that would make getting to sleep easier. Parse clapped him on the back like he did every time they parted ways, and that was that. 

He'd fucked up at a game-- over something _so_ goddamn simple he felt like clawing his hair out-- and other than two questions from the media, there hadn't been a reaction. The coaches might ask if he and Parse needed more one-on-one time, but that was going to be the extent of it. 

Jenny didn't even mention it when she said that he had a great game. He didn't know if that's because she hadn't noticed or if it was a conscious decision on her part not to bring it up. Either way, he was happy not to talk about it. 

* * *

For all that Whiskey and Parse had talked about playoffs and the Cup, he was still shocked when they made it to the final round. Aces versus Penguins. It felt like his mind was a static screen on an old television. Crackling loud enough to be annoying but nonsensical enough that it could be tuned out if you tried. There was the occasional jump like a mental exclamation point just to keep things interesting. 

This didn't happen. Rookies didn't win the Cup their first year when they were playing on first line unless they were Kent goddamn Parson. Whiskey knew himself; he was no Kent Parson. He felt like he couldn't breathe. Jesus christ this was a bad time to have that mental break Kent had been worried about. It was the first game, he needed to be in the right head space to bring his A game because anything else wouldn't cut it, not at this point in the finals. 

As fate would have it, Kent was the one to get him out of his head. He kicked Whiskey's leg as they were getting suited up, more of a nudge than anything else. 

Whiskey looked over at him. Any hope he had that nobody noticed how much he was freaking out was dashed when he saw the expression on Kent's face. Always smiling, the bastard, but it was less teasing than usual. "If we lose, we lose." 

Whiskey snorted. "You don't tell anyone else on the team that." 

"Nobody else on the team needs to hear it. Getting this far your rookie year? That's some gold star level shit. You've got the rest of your career made, whether we lose or not. We've got at least four games before it's all down the gutter anyways. Have you _ever_ had four piss poor games in a row?" 

"There's a first time for everything," Whiskey muttered. 

"Win or lose, you and me are going to celebrate. You'll finally get a proper introduction to the queen of my life, Kit Purrson." 

"Did you name her that yourself?" 

"I am my own biggest fan," he said with a wink. 

"Not true," Whiskey said, shaking head. The words slipped out before he could stop them, but Kent wouldn't think anything of it, right? He was one of the most popular players in the entire league, plenty of people admired him. 

"Does that mean that if we win, you'll be my biggest fan?" Kent said, and there was a lilt there, almost flirtatious. But no, that was just in Whiskey's head. 

"If we win, I'll be your new best friend." 

"That makes it sound like we're not best friends already." 

Whiskey was about to refute that, but he paused before anything came out. Shit. When did that happen? "I'll fight Kit for the position." 

"Saying that my best friend is my cat?" Kent let out a low whistle. "Harsh, Whisk. Real harsh." 

Inexplicably, the tightness in his chest was gone. 

* * *

They won. They _won_. Holy shit, they won. Connor was smiling so widely it felt like his face was going to get split in half. When the Cup made it around to him, he felt like he was fucking glowing as he lifted it over his head and cheered. Kent and Connor had both gotten a goal in the final game, and the one before this, the Aces had gotten a shut-out. The time before last, they'd won in overtime. They'd lost two games, but he'd felt pretty good about it, and now _they had won_. 

Whiskey was feeling the high of victory, and he'd like to be able to say that it was an impulse decision after the dust settled, but it wasn't. The reason he'd had the courage for it was because he was a fucking rookie and he'd gotten a goal in the game that _won them the Stanley Cup_ , but no, it wasn't an impulse. If it had been an impulse, he wouldn't have waited until after the game when it was just the two of them heading back to the hotel so they could change for the team's victory outing. (Scraps had decided that the second best player on their team didn't need a babysitter. "If you can get a hattie, you can find your way back to the hotel," he'd said with a snort, knocking a fist on Whiskey's helmet after he'd brought it up after a game.) 

Kent watched Whiskey rummage through his bag, amused. "I know you packed victory clothes." 

"Scraps made me," he muttered. This was a pretty small bag, he didn't understand how he was missing it. 

"That's how I know you packed 'em." 

He finally found the button-down-- dark red and tighter than he normally would have have gotten for himself because Jenny had bought it for him and said it made him look hot-- and yanked it out victoriously. And, of course, dark jeans for the other half of his outfit, but he'd found those as soon as he opened the bag. 

"That's what you're wearing?" 

Whiskey gave him a flat look-- or as flat a look as he could managed when he was still smiling from the win. "Are you doing more plaid?" 

"Hey, I wasn't judging," Kent said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I was surprised you even have a shirt with buttons." 

Connor flipped him off, but he was grinning. 

"All my plaid has buttons, don't give me that. All you ever wear is t-shirts." 

"They're comfortable," he defended, getting to his feet. He pulled off the compression shirt he'd been wearing after the game and slid his arms through the sleeves of the button-down. 

Kent snorted. "You say that like my clothes aren't comfortable." 

"How would I know?" Connor asked, starting at the bottom and working his way up as he fastened the buttons. "I don't get why you're all dragging me out, anyways." 

"You don't know?" Kent repeated incredulously. "Dude! We just won the Stanley Cup! This is a once in your career sort of event, you need to get _wasted_ and play shitty drinking games." 

"I'm underage, I won't be able to drink anywhere we go." 

"Connor," Kent said, laying his hands on his shoulders and affecting severity. Connor's hands froze halfway up his shirt to look Kent in the eye. He had this fucking gleam like they owned the goddamn world and they were going to make the most of it. "We won the Cup. Nobody's going to fucking card you. And even if they want to, you don't question the guy that comes in with a bunch of obviously over-age professional hockey players." He started to get his normal smirk back, and all Connor could think was that he wanted to kiss it off of him. So he did. 

He leaned forward, hands going from his own shirt to fist in Kent's. 

It was only a fraction of a second before Kent was kissing him back, hands sliding up to his neck as they both shifted closer to get to a better angle. Kent met him for every kiss, both of them pressing harder and harder until both their lips were swollen and Connor was about to have to move his hands so he could see if Kent was as effected by this as he was, but a loud knock on the door stopped them. 

"Yo, Whiskey! Stop primping we gotta go celebrate!" Swoops shouted. 

Connor cleared his throat quietly, then yelled back, "I'm almost done!" 

"You seen Parse? Bro's not in his room!" 

"We were talking shit about all of you that didn't win the Cup your rookie year," Kent called in the direction of the door. He took half a step back, and Connor reluctantly let go of his shirt; there were wrinkles where he'd gripped the fabric so tightly that it wasn't bouncing like it normally would have. 

"We're all champions today, asshole!" There was a loud thump that sounded like he'd kicked the door. "Get downstairs in the next five minutes or we're not waiting for you!" Swoops was never one for keeping his mouth shut, so when nothing else was forthcoming, it was obvious that he'd left to go wait downstairs like he said. 

"We should probably go," Kent said, ruffling his hair. It's not like Connor had had his hands in it, but it looked a little messy, regardless. 

"We could stay here," Connor offered tentatively. 

Kent's eyes shot to the side, and Connor's stomach dropped. "That's uh-" The hand that was in his hair clenched, and it looked painful. He let go after a second. "I'm your captain," he said quietly. "If anyone found out, I could get kicked off the team. Nobody else would sign me, and-" 

"It's fine," Whiskey said, offering a lopsided smile. He combed his fingers through his hair then buttoned his shirt the rest of the way. "I wasn't thinking about any of that, you know? Felt good, so I just kinda..." he trailed off, not knowing where he was going with it. Anything he said would be a lie, anyways. Kent would probably be able to tell. 

"Yeah, it's fine," Kent said with a responding smile that looked a little less awkward than Whiskey's own. "I don't wanna- um-" he cut off, messing with his hair reflexively. "It probably wouldn't be a good idea to hook up with any guys unless you're planning on coming out." 

Whiskey shook his head, because that was something he never planned on doing, right alongside this conversation that he never wanted to have. All the guys-- Parse included-- thought that he had a girlfriend, and it would be for the best if he continued to let everyone think that; it's why him and Jenny had gotten together in the first place. "Go on," he said, slapping Parse companionably on the shoulder, "you should get changed before Swoops follows up on his threat." 

Parse snorted. "He wouldn't do that." 

Whiskey raised an eyebrow. 

"The captain pays for the first round," he explained, and Whiskey laughed, shaking his head.


	2. It's not all in my head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whiskey is a bit of a disaster. Parse is a disaster too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue is ripped right from the comics, I think it's pretty obvious where lol

Whiskey was on the first line, and he had been ever since the coaches decided to try it his rookie year. He won the Art Ross last year, got the A, and he had been feeling really good about this year. Sure, he was ignoring most of his body's reactions to Parse, but Parse didn't once bring up what happened after the Aces won the Stanley Cup in the hotel room so Whiskey wasn't too bothered. 

Jenny was having a good time at Samwell. They talked every once in a while and texted pretty much every day. She'd switched her major, and now she was going to be graduating at least one semester later than she'd originally planned, but she was happier with her current classes. She went to most of Samwell's hockey games because-- in her words-- she missed seeing grown men in pads knocking the shit out of each other. They only saw each other in person during the season when he had a game nearby and could drive over to meet her, and that didn’t happen very often. Normally when that _did_ happen, they got together for coffee or he'd snack and complain about all the travel-- he didn't like planes at _all_ \-- while she did her homework or procrastinated her homework by doing her nails or complaining in kind about classes. 

All of this was to say that Whiskey was pretty sure he was responsible for the worst night of his life to date, because Jenny told him about this party that was happening at their hockey team's house the same time he was planning on visiting. She invited him, he mentioned it to Parse in passing, and Parse asked if he could tag along. 

"Why?" Whiskey asked, frowning at him. 

Parse shrugged. Whiskey was about fifty-fifty when guessing what Parse was actually thinking. He guessed that this time, Parse wasn't feeling as casual as he wanted Whiskey to think. "Jack's on their hockey team. If it's their party, he'll be there, and I thought we could catch up. I haven’t seen him since my rookie year." 

"Yeah, sure," Whiskey said, turning back to the show they were watching. He hadn't been very interested in the show before, but now he was pretty much negatively interested. Did Parse really expect for him to believe that? That the year Jack goddamn Zimmermann was looking at what team he wanted to sign with, was going to be the same year that Parse just _happened_ to want to catch up with him? 

He had no reason to be jealous. Parse was perfectly capable of having more than one friend, and beyond that, he was perfectly capable of playing spectacularly on the ice with more than one person. 

But Whiskey had gotten used to the way reporters started saying their names in the same breath. Like they were a package deal. Parson and Whisk. Whisk and Parson. 'Cut from the same cloth'. It was the same way people used to talk about Parse and Zimmermann when they were in Juniors. It was stupid and possessive, and he would've called Jenny to let her talk about her college drama if he didn't know that she was busy. Whiskey wasn't some teenage bestie, he was on the first line of his first choice NHL team. He had a Cup and an Art Ross under his belt. He got the A after one year on the Aces. Insecurity, at this point in his career, was illogical. 

That didn't keep him from feeling icky for the rest of the night. 

* * *

"Connor!" Jenny screamed, throwing her arms around him. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I'm so glad you made it!" She was not on her first cup of... whatever the hell that was. It looked radioactive. "Holy _shit_ you brought Kent Parson with you. Oh my god," she said again, dragging out the word 'god' as if he needed any more clues that she was tipsy. "You're the best friend in the entire world; I love you SO MUCH." 

"You must be Whiskey's girlfriend," Parse said, clearly amused. 

"Oh wow Kent Parson knows who I am," she whispered, but it was a loud whisper, loud enough that Kent could hear her over the music and other party-goers. 

"Dude." Someone that was behind her overheard and turned to see if Kent Parson actually was at their frat party. "Did you say Kent Parson?" His eyes caught on Kent and widened. "Bro!" he said, turning to punch his friend in the arm. 

Then both of them turned, looking between Parse and Whiskey with growing excitement. "Jen, what the hell! How do you know NHL stars?" 

"Me and Connor went to high school together," she said, then started rubbing her cheek against his shirt. "Woah dude, this is like, really soft. I wasn't quite sure you knew _how_ to buy new clothes. I'm going to blame this on your other best friend." She pointed at Parse so there could be no confusion about who she meant. 

"Nah, he did this one all by himself," Parse said, patting his back. "I'm gonna go look for Zimms." He walked away, and Whiskey wanted to drag him back. They didn't need Zimmermann. The _Aces_ didn't need Zimmermann. He wished Parse would let go of his teenage obsession because he'd accomplished so much more on his own in the NHL than he'd done next to Zimmermann. Parse didn't need anyone. Hell, he didn't even need Whiskey, and everyone was saying that they played best when they were together. 

"Connorrrrrr you're ignoring me!" Jenny whined. It said a lot about their friendship that he was amused by this instead of annoyed. He turned his attention back to her. 

The party went pretty much how Whiskey had expected it to from the moment Jenny told him it was a hockey team hosting. Whiskey took a lot of selfies, answered the same five or six questions a dozen times, and got himself a cup of tub juice-- which was the violently green liquid that he'd seen Jenny with earlier, apparently. Parse had been doing the same thing for a while, to the point that Whiskey forgot to keep an eye on him. One minute, Parse was playing flip cup and losing miserably-- according to crowd reactions at least, it's not like Whiskey had any idea-- and the next, Whiskey couldn't find him anywhere. 

Jenny was consoling a friend who'd fallen in love and gotten her heartbroken in the span of this party, so Whiskey was able to leave her alone to deal with that as he looked for him. The first floor was a bust, but there was a second floor and he wouldn't put it past Kent to sneak away and sulk. 

He saw some guy standing in the hallway, rummaging his pockets for a key. He lived here then, and he might have seen Parse hanging around. "Hey-" the guy's head jerked towards him, eyes wide like he'd been caught doing something bad- "have you seen Kent?" Whiskey asked as he walked closer. 

"I, um, I think he's in Jack's room," he said, pointing at the door behind him. 

Whiskey was close enough now that he could hear them talking behind Zimmermann's closed door. 

"What do you expect for me to say? That I miss you? I miss you, okay?" Kent said it so easily, like he didn't spend most of his time pretending that he didn't give a shit. "...I miss you." 

There was a long pause, then Zimmermann said, voice hard and unforgiving, "You always say that." 

Another pause, and Whiskey could perfectly picture the way Kent's expression twisted. "Huh. Well, _shit_. Okay. You kn-" 

Whiskey pounded on the door, cutting him off before he could say something he'd really regret. "Parse, you in there?" he called. He glanced at the Samwell hockey guy and jerked his head towards the door he'd been facing when Whiskey walked up here. He took the hint and put his key in the lock, managing to vanish into his room before Zimmermann's door opened. 

Parse looked pissed off, and Zimmermann looked hunted. 

"Sorry to interrupt you catching up with old friends, but I don't plan on playing like shit at the game tomorrow for you." 

Kent cleared his throat before replying. "Yeah, we should get going. We're done here anyways, aren't we Zimms?" 

"Yeah," Zimmermann said gruffly. 

Parse breezed past him, but Whiskey's eyes lingered on Zimmermann. Kent's hat was off. He'd started to shove it back on when he left the room, but it had been off; he didn't take his hat off for a fucking conversation no matter how poorly it was going. That verified a lot of rumors that Whiskey would have preferred to live in ignorance about. Looks like, as far Kent was concerned, Whiskey was the left over choice when Zimmermann wasn't available. There's no way Zimmermann would sign with the Aces and then put all of them on the same line; Whiskey would get bumped down to make room for him. If Zimmermann signed on, they'd probably free up the Cap space for him, and that would put Whiskey's career on the slower track-- not that he wasn't happy with where he was, but something ugly in his stomach curled at the idea of losing it because of _Zimmermann_ of all people. 

Whiskey gave Zimmermann a polite nod, then turned and followed Kent down the stairs. Did Parse know that, for all of him trying to pretend he was casual, it was obvious he was running away? When they made it outside, Kent was at the driver's side, unlocking the doors. Whiskey came round and held out his hand. "No way you're driving." 

"It's my rental." 

"I promise not to crash," Whiskey said flatly. 

Parse frowned at him, genuinely confused as to why this was happening. "Since when do you like driving?" 

"Since I decided I didn't want to die because you're upset," Whiskey said, grabbing the keys from him since he wasn't passing them over. 

Parse looked at him numbly for a second, then rolled his eyes-- more angry than joking, unfortunately-- and walked to the other side. When he got in, he slammed the door shut. He was pissed, and that sucked, but all it did was convince Whiskey that he'd made the right decision. 

Neither of them said anything until fifteen minutes later when they were on the highway, making their way back to the city where they should've stayed the whole time. "You want to talk about it?" Whiskey asked, and Kent stayed stubbornly silent for the exact time it took for the song to finish. 

"I don't know what I thought was going to happen," he muttered. He yanked his hat off like it was suddenly bothering him and laid it over his knee. "He didn't want to talk to me for years. I visited him after my rookie year, but I thought... I dunno. I wasn't thinking. Not straight, anyways. It would've been easy for him to get ahold of me if he wanted to, but I had to come over here and make a complete _ass_ of myself." Parse rubbed at his eyes like he was angry that he was crying. "He didn't even believe that I missed him," he said, and his voice cracked halfway through. He didn't bother to pretend like he was fine; he just broke down. 

In the absence of being able to hug him, Whiskey shifted his hands so that he could put one on his shoulder. A few minutes later-- when Kent was no longer sobbing and had moved on to wiping at his face-- Whiskey quietly said, "You don't need him, you know." 

Parse snorted like he didn't agree with that for an instant. 

"You don't," he repeated. "Everything that you've accomplished with the Aces has been you alone." 

"You're full of shit," Parse muttered, leaning back against the headrest. He shifted his shoulder, so Whiskey let go. 

"Is there a reason you insist on being miserable?" 

"Says the guy that spent his entire rookie year trying to work himself to death." 

"Me trying to prove that I deserve to stay on the team isn't the same as you looking up an ex-boyfriend when you know he doesn't give a shit about restarting your relationship." 

"...You're an asshole." 

Yeah. Whiskey didn't like himself very much right now. He managed to stop himself from saying 'maybe that's who gets attracted to you', and he was going to count his silence as a victory. From the corner of his eye, he saw Kent glance at him. 

"God, do you think you're in love with me or something?" 

Whiskey should've known better than to think that him biting back one bad sentence was enough to cool both of them. 

Kent let out a laugh that wasn't kind in the slightest. "Fuck, you are, aren't you? Does your precious girlfriend know that you want to fuck your captain? Or does she think that you're still completely faithful to her? Did you even tell her about that time we kissed? Or maybe she thinks that you're the picture perfect boyfriend, pining after her when she's away at college." 

All of this would have cut right through him if him and Jenny were actually dating. "Considering she's fucking her roommate, I don't think she'd give a shit." 

"If that's what you think a relationship is, it's no wonder you decided to latch onto me," Parse said with a snort. 

"Why are you acting like this?" he asked, glancing at him. 

Parse shot him a smile like a shark-- all teeth and nothing pleasant. "You're the one that wants to fuck me, dipshit. Maybe you should reevaluate your taste before you fuck up so bad that no one wants you." 

Ah. He was hurting over his conversation with Zimmermann. Whiskey had known that, but when it turned more personal, he'd started to think that maybe this was actually about a problem Parse had with him. That was the problem with wanting to date Parse: Whiskey wanted it to be about him, and it was all about Zimmermann. "Sounds like you're trying to convince me," he replied evenly. 

Kent ground his teeth together when Whiskey didn't respond the way he wanted. "I hate you." 

"Yep." 

They both pretended that he didn't start crying again, a few minutes later. 

The drive was a few hours, so there was time for them to blow up at each other, calm down, then start talking again. More accurately, Whiskey was listening to the radio and wondering if anyone actually liked the portion where the dj was talking instead of playing music when Parse said, "I'm a goddamn mess. I can't believe they made me Captain." 

"You're not a mess on the ice, if that helps." 

"That makes me a good player, not a good Captain." 

Whiskey sighed. "Look man, if you're fishing for compliments, you should call Swoops. Or Scraps. I don't do the whole... comfort thing. From what I can tell, they're both pretty good at it." 

"Fishing for compliments makes it sound like there's something honest to give." 

"That's because there is." 

Kent didn't say anything to that, and the dj talked for another three minutes before putting on a song. Two songs later, he asked, "You're not really in love with me, right? Cause like, you could have anyone you want." 

Except for him. 

"And as we just discussed, I'm a mess." 

"We didn't _discuss_ anything. You said it like it was fact." Parse was also the one to decide that Whiskey was in love with him. Maybe he was. It didn't really matter. "Stop worrying about it. Talking with Zimmermann didn't go the way you wanted it to. It hurt, but it's not the end of the world. Everything's the same for you right now as it was yesterday." 

"Doesn't feel like it," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. 

"What did you want to talk to him about, anyways?" 

"Signing on with the Aces," he said, and Whiskey really hadn't expected for him to admit it so easily. "Can you imagine all three of us on the ice? We'd be fucking unstoppable. And I..." Parse trailed off, blowing out a breath. "I miss skating with him. It was the happiest I'd ever been." 

Happiest he'd ever been. Apparently, being captain of an NHL team and winning two Stanley Cups and a Calder couldn't compare to skating with Jack fucking Zimmermann. Yeah. Whiskey had known that he didn't stand a chance, but his heart was acting like this was brand new information as it splintered. 

"I mean, it was- it was like we could do anything, y'know? We felt unstoppable- or I guess that was just me," he said, shifting how he was sitting. "Obviously he didn't feel the same way. He didn't miss me at all, but I know that he liked me _while_ we were at the Q, but I guess that was it. And I- _god_ I made such an ass out of myself. I thought we were like, in love and shit, and he didn't even care." 

Whiskey spotted an exit that claimed to have at least two gas stations and the tank didn't really need filling, but he was pretty sure the road wasn't supposed to get all fuzzy like that. He couldn’t distinguish which lane was which. 

"Does he consider me to be an ex? Or am I some fucking mistake that he made when he was a dumbass teenager? He didn't want to see me. He doesn't _ever_ want to see me. How am I...? Jesus, I feel like I can't catch my breath," he said, pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes. 

Oh good, there was a gas station at the corner of the exit. Whiskey pulled up to a pump, but instead of getting out to pump gas, his hands tightened on the steering wheel and he leaned his forehead against it. Speaking of feeling like you couldn't fucking breathe... 

"Whiskey? You okay?" 

He couldn't respond. He wanted to. He wanted to say that he was fine, but his lips felt numb, and his tongue like it was too large for his mouth. He tried to say 'I'm fine' through it, but all he managed was to close his mouth for a fraction of a second. 

"Connor?" A hand tentatively came down on his shoulder, but he still couldn't form a single word. "Shit, are you okay?" Kent moved his hand to the back of his neck and rubbed, like a little massage. 

He hadn't realized that he'd been wound so tightly until he started to relax. Responsiveness started to seep back in, and he fumbled for the door handle, mumbling a, "Sorry," as he rushed out. The car door closing sounded startlingly loud in the otherwise empty gas station, and that helped get him awake enough to swipe his card and get the nozzle in the right place. He leaned against the car and buried his face in his hands as he waited. 

Going to the party would have been fine. Letting Kent know about the party and saying he could join him was where it went wrong. The fact that they had to leave together was where it went straight to hell. In his defense, he didn't have any fucking idea that Parse and Zimmermann were on that bad of terms. They weren't best friends, sure, but he hadn't known it was like _that_. He'd had his suspicions about how their relationship had been in Juniors-- just like everyone else-- but to learn that it had apparently ended in flames and neither of them were over it, well that was the worst the situation could possibly be (unless they straight killed each other, but that didn't seem like either of them given that the number of fights they'd been on even on the ice could be counted on one hand). 

It was all too soon that the pump clicked off, and he went about putting the nozzle back and grabbing his receipt on autopilot. 

Kent was sitting in shamed silence when Whiskey got back in the car. He didn't feel ready to drive yet, but there was another car pulling up behind him, so he turned on the car and drove into the limited parking they had, on the dark side of the building. He turned the car back off and leaned his forehead against the wheel. 

"Sorry," Parse said, then swallowed thickly. "But see, this, this right here is exactly why you're too good for me. We _can't_ date because I'm your Captain, but this is the reason why we _shouldn't_." 

"You're not bad when you're not _trying_ to be an asshole," Whiskey muttered. 

"Yeah but I'm an asshole on purpose so often that it doesn't matter." 

Whiskey realized, suddenly, that there was no reason for Kent to be talking like this unless he liked Whiskey too, at least a little bit. He was still in love with Zimmermann, but he-- at the very least-- found Whiskey attractive, and right now, that was enough for him. "If I kissed you right now, would you kiss me back?" 

It felt like the words echoed in the silence of the car. There was the distant thump of the other person's car door closing. "...Yes." Quiet. Almost ashamed. 

It’s all he wanted to hear though. When Whiskey lifted his head and turned to face him, Kent was already reaching for him. They met in the middle, clashing together like the jagged edges of their emotions that were trying to figure out how they fit against each other. It was the exact opposite energy of the time that they kissed in the hotel room. Then, they had been laughing, their chests light from victory and wanting to celebrate. Now, they were pulling on each other, harsh breaths and sharp bites as they both tried to feel anything good. 

Whiskey wanted to get closer to him, but the car was too small for it to work. All he really ended up doing was sitting on his knees and leaning over the console that separated their seats. 

"Wait, just- one sec," Kent muttered. 

Whiskey leaned back, licking his lips and wondering if Kent was about to tell him that they should stop. 

But all Kent did was reach down and slide the seat back, and then they were kissing again, and Whiskey was able to crawl into his lap. He wasn't thinking about the fact that they were in a rented car in some random parking lot of a gas station he couldn't remember the name to. All he could think about was that he loved the feel of Kent's mouth against his, and he didn't want it to stop. 

Kent's hands were at the small of his back, and Whiskey wanted them to go a little further down. When Kent didn't do it on his own after a minute, Whiskey reached around and shifted his hand for him. Kent took the invitation with both hands-- so to speak-- and then they were rocking against each other and gasping into the other's mouth. 

"Can I-?" Whiskey asked, hands at Kent's waist. 

"Yeah," Kent breathed. "Yeah, fuck, whatever you want." 

Whiskey's hands went to the front of his pants, and he didn't really know _what_ he wanted to do, but he knew that he wanted to touch him. He had to stop kissing him so that he could get a look at it, and even then, he kind of struggled with undoing the button of his jeans; it was just _weird_ from this angle, and he wasn't used to it. He finally managed it though, and he reached inside Kent's boxers to wrap his fingers around his length. 

Kent moaned, the hand that was on the back of Whiskey's neck tightening reflexively. 

Whiskey shifted his hand so it wasn't trapped inside Kent's clothes and slowly started to jerk him off. It was dry, so there was only so good it could feel, but Kent sure as hell sounded like he was enjoying it. 

There were a couple reasons Whiskey decided to squeeze himself on the floor mat instead of staying where he was. Number one: he wanted to get Kent off. They were in a rental car, so it's not like they'd have the time to get it cleaned if they made a mess. They didn't have any condoms, so it's not like there was an easy way to contain the mess in the first place. Number two: they'd probably only do this once, and Whiskey wanted to get his mouth on him. He wanted to know what he tasted like. And sure, Whiskey had never sucked anyone off before, but Kent probably wouldn't mind. 

It took some finagling and awkward wiggling, but Whiskey managed to fit, one of Kent's legs over his shoulder and the other mostly out of the way pressed the gear stick. "Connor you don't have to- oh _shit_ ," Kent said, knocking his head back against the head rest when Whiskey's tongue laved over the head of his dick. He bit down hard on his bottom lip as Whiskey gave a tentative suck. He hadn't done this before, and confidence might be sexy, but not fucking up horribly when he tried to pretend that he knew what he was doing was _more_ important. He'd watched porn and read enough erotica to know the basic idea, so after he got used to the bitter taste of pre-come and the weird texture of skin that he had never put his tongue against before, he started sucking him off, using his hand on the part of his Kent's cock that he couldn't reach with his mouth. 

One of Kent's hands was gripping the door handle with a white knuckled grip, and the other was fisted on his leg, presumably so he wouldn't do something touching Whiskey that he wouldn't like. It was a nice thought, but Whiskey didn't want that. He grabbed Kent's hand-- the one resting on his own thigh-- and put it in his hair. Kent got the idea and threaded his fingers through the long hair on top of Whiskey's head, tugging experimentally. When he gave an appreciative groan, Kent did it again. 

Kent was an asshole, but he also wasn't a complete shit-head, so he tried to warn Whiskey before he came. "Shit, shit- Connor, I'm-" Whiskey didn't try to move away though, because half the reason he'd done this was so that they wouldn't make a mess. Pulling away when he was coming was the opposite of what he was trying to do. But he'd also never had anyone come in his mouth before and he kind of choked a little. Or a lot. It sort of made his eyes water as he coughed, but that had been happening _while_ he was sucking him off, so it didn't make that big of a difference to him. 

"Fuck," Kent whispered, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Whiskey glanced at him, only to remember that he was painfully hard. Kent looked like a goddamn porn star, all pink cheeks highlighting his grey eyes and making his messy hair look fucking golden. His shirt was a mess, half the buttons undone and rucked to hell from where Whiskey had had his hands on him. "Sorry- tried to warn you, but-" he stuttered, then his hands were on Whiskey's face, his thumbs wiping at the corner of his eyes. "You okay?" 

Whiskey was pretty sure he was crushing Kent's hat under his shin. "I think I'm sitting on your hat," he said, instead of any of the half dozen other things he wanted to say. _Did you like it? Would you want to do it again sometime? Will you touch me? Did I make things weird? Are you going to pretend like this never happened? How the_ hell _am I going to get out of this position?_ The last one was the only one he'd have to deal with because the only way he could think of was if Kent opened the door and got out first, but that didn't seem like a very good option for them. Since they'd just. Y'know. Had sex in the parking lot of a gas station in a rented car. And all Whiskey could really think about was if he was going to have to drive the rest of the way with a hard on. 

Him and Kent were sort of on the same wavelength, because a minute later, Kent said, "I have no idea how you got down there. One sec." He had to shift his weight to pull his pants back up, and then he moved to the driver's seat, and Whiskey was able to gingerly slide up into the seat. Yep, there was Kent's Aces hat (or one of them) laying on the mat. 

"Does this mean you're driving the rest of the way?" Whiskey asked. His voice was a little rough, and he cleared his throat. 

"Yeah, I will. Afterwards." Kent was kissing him again, apparently unbothered by the taste of his own come in Whiskey's mouth. It was blatantly obvious that Kent had more experience with this sort of thing, because he got Whiskey's pants open on the first try. He got his knees under him and leaned over, arm braced across Whiskey's knees to keep his weight off. It was increasingly more obvious that he knew what he was doing when he got his mouth on him. He could take his cock deeper, and there was this way he curled his tongue that made Whiskey see stars. 

" _Jesus_ ," he bit out, fisting a hand in the back of Kent's shirt. He wanted to feel his hair, but with the way Kent was having to bend to make this work, it would feel too much like he was shoving Kent's face down on him and he didn't want that. If it was this obvious to Whiskey that Kent knew what he was doing, it was equally likely that Kent knew he didn't know what he was doing. Kent was bobbing his head up and down, and Whiskey's hips were making small thrusts into his mouth. Kent didn't tell him to stop, and he was so fucking grateful because he wasn't sure that he could. Kent's mouth was wet and so fucking warm that it felt like he'd been dropped right into heaven. Every once in a while, the head of his cock would hit the back of Kent's throat and he was pretty sure this was nirvana. 

He wasn't near as much of a gentleman as he should've been-- it was his first time with someone else getting him off-- and he came without a warning. In his defense, he hadn't really expected it either. He'd heard the phrase 'mind blowing orgasm' before, but now he knew what it meant. He couldn't feel his fingers. God. 

Kent pushed himself back to a sitting position. It really felt like Whiskey should say something, only he had no idea what exactly he should say. "Thanks," is what ended up coming out, and Kent laughed. 

"Uh, you're welcome?" he said, smirking. Kent kissed him again, and Whiskey trailed after him when he started to lean back, so they kept kissing. It was nice to kiss just for the feel of it even if the taste was kind of the worst thing ever. "We should get back on the road," Kent whispered. 

"Yeah." Whiskey picked up his hat and jammed it on Kent's head. "There, you're ready." 

Kent snorted, gave him another kiss, then sat properly in his seat. 

Whiskey tucked his dick back in his boxers, did up his pants, then moved the seat back to where it had been before. He reached for the seat belt as Kent started the car, and it's almost like nothing happened, except the car definitely smelled like sex now and he could feel the sweat on his body cooling. 

"Thanks for driving at first. You were right, I wasn't... yeah. Thanks." 

"No problem." 

They were quiet for a minute, back on the freeway and watching as the lights of the other cars flashed by. "About uh what just happened." 

"I don't feel like having this conversation." 

Kent snorted. "You think I do? We didn't talk about it last time, and that didn't include sex." 

"We talked about it," Whiskey argued. 

"I said that we couldn't do it because I was your captain, and you agreed. That wasn't really talking about it." 

Whiskey swallowed, running a hand through his hair. Yeah. Maybe it didn't count as talking about it, but he'd felt pretty shitty afterwards. They'd done more this time, and he knew that meant he would feel worse than the other time because there was more to lose. Not that he'd get to keep Kent if they didn't talk about it. "Whatever." 

Kent glanced at him, then sighed. "Fine, I'll start. I like you." He clenched his jaw for a second. "I like playing with you. I don't want either of us to get kicked out of the league if we get caught dating. Or- fooling around or whatever we'd end up doing. We have a lot to lose if it gets out." 

"I wouldn't tell anyone," Whiskey said, because that was all he really could say. 

"Right, but- shit, what if we break up? What if we agree to date and then we get into this fucking mess of a break up and can't play together? That would screw both of us over just because we couldn't keep it in our pants. And- fucking hell," he said, mood plummeting. 

Whiskey frowned at him. "What?" 

"Your girlfriend. I- I'd forgotten all about her, but you can't-" 

"We're not dating." 

Kent nodded like he was being given a mission. "Right, but I mean-" 

"Me and Jenny," Whiskey clarified. "We're not dating. We say we are, but we're not." It kept him safe, and it kept her safe. Not to mention that it had been easier when he was in high school. Everyone expected for him to have a big group of friends and active social media and a loving girlfriend while he was busting his ass trying to play hockey without failing high school. So he'd had Jenny. Jenny was his best friend, and she made everyone feel like he was in the friend group even though he'd barely been around for all the after school hangouts. Jenny had tagged him in all the pictures they took together, and it was easy for him to re-post them. Jenny didn't want to come out; Whiskey didn't either. They both needed an excuse, so... 

"Oh. God, I was about to have a fucking heart attack." 

Whiskey chuckled, shaking his head. "Funny that you try to pretend you don't give a shit about anyone when you do this sort of thing." 

"You're hilarious," Kent said flatly. "Here I am, trying to act like a decent human being, and all you want is to make fun of me." 

"You make it too easy." 

"Fuck off. No girlfriend to worry about, that's good. But like... what about everything else?" 

"You're gay. Or bi or whatever, and you've managed not to let that get out. I don't see how this would be any different." 

"It would change our relationship on the ice whether we want it to or not. Someone might notice." 

"If you don't want to, then we won't." 

"I didn't say that," Kent said quietly. "And you know, I told you that I like you, but you haven't said anything similar. We're talking about trying to hide that we're dating when I have no fucking idea if that's what you want." 

"Right, cause I always go down on guys in cars." 

"You're making this harder than it needs to be." 

Whiskey thought about making some sort of joke or just agreeing with him, but he figured this was the most honest he was ever going to get Kent. "You only slept with me because you were upset." 

"...Is that seriously what you think?" 

Whiskey shrugged. 

Kent glanced at him, and Whiskey met his eyes evenly. "Shit man, seriously?" Kent blew out a breath. "Fine. Yeah I fucking miss Jack, and yeah I want to play with him again, but I'm not trying to- replace you with him or some shit. I know that people are comparing you all the goddamn time, but you're not actually similar. Like oh no, neither of you grin like loons to the camera. The horror." 

"Are you the loon in this situation?" 

"Have you seen me talk to reporters? I'm like five loons strapped together under hockey pads. If you want us to be together, I need you to say it. Guessing at this sort of shit hasn't gone very well for me in the past." 

Whiskey didn't say anything. He _wanted_ to, but there was a paralyzing fear in his stomach. Sleeping with someone didn't technically mean anything. He'd seen guys jerk each other off and then say they were a hundred percent straight and people actually believed them. He'd never seen that happen after a guy said he wanted to date another man. Saying it aloud would be the same as admitting he was gay. He wanted Kent. Wanted to kiss him and date him and hug him all the goddamn time. Admitting it out loud was proving a little too frightening for him though. 

"Okay. Uh, guess that's an answer, then." 

"Not-" Whiskey started to say, knowing that he needed to say _something_ but not sure where he was going with it. "I-." 

"Hey man, if you don't want to, it's fine. This is why I said we should talk about it. No hard feelings-" 

"Stop talking. Just. Stop it." Whiskey rubbed his hands over his face, trying to activate enough courage that he could get it out. "I've never said it out loud before. Jenny never asked point blank, and I haven't had anyone else to... you know? Ask about it. No one's thought about it. Which is good," he added quickly. "It's what I wanted." 

"I'm not asking for a detailed outline of your sexual orientation and how you made it to the part of your life where we fucked in a car, but I need _something_. How 'bout this. I ask you the question, and you answer yes or no." 

"Um. Okay." 

"Do you want to date me?" 

"Yes." Oh. That was easy. It hadn’t been ‘do you like men’ or ‘do you want to date men’. Do you want to date this person in particular? Yes; he hadn’t had to spend years making sure no one knew he wanted to date Kent Parson. 

"See?" Kent said, spreading his fingers out against the wheel like a half of a gesture. "Now I know. So we're... dating. Wow. That's uh, probably the first time I've been able to say that and know that the guy's not going to correct me." 

"I'm honored," Whiskey said, monotone. 

"But, y'know, basic rules apply here. We're both sports celebrities and neither of us are out and again, same team, that could be an issue." 

"In private only, no gossiping about it with all those friends I have." 

"That's the gist, yeah," Kent said, shooting him a pleased smirk. "But fair warning, I'm an asshole, so don't expect for me to be sweet all the time." 

"Why the hell would I expect that?" 

"I'm covering all my bases." 

"We play professional hockey, and you're using baseball as a point of reference?" 

"Fuck off, it got my point across." 

Whiskey snorted but, "Yeah." 

"This is the part where you tell me something I need to prepare for with you." 

Whiskey huffed, but this was easier than anything else they'd talked about so far. "I don't talk. About how I'm feeling." 

"Funnily enough, I knew that." 

"You asked." 

Kent laughed, then reached forward and turned on the radio. 

The background noise made him feel bolder. "I don't like Zimmermann." 

"You have _no_ idea how hilarious that is to me," Kent said, obviously having to tamp down on busting out laughing. 

"It won't be as funny to you when I keep getting jealous over stupid shit." 

"I'll survive. It's not like this is going to be a big issue anyways. I asked Zimms if he had considered signing with the Aces, and he said fuck no." 

"He said that," Whiskey repeated doubtfully. 

"That's what he meant by it, trust me." 

Whiskey didn't feel like telling Kent that that did very little to comfort him. He didn't need to worry because Zimmermann didn't like him? Yeah, that's not the part he was worried about. He didn't like that _Kent_ was still thinking about Zimmermann, but, he amended to himself, that probably wasn't going to be anything to worry about soon. Zimmermann wouldn't be signing with the Aces, and with the two of them on the same team and also dating, there wasn't going to be a reason for him to worry.


	3. Now we're going to bed

They were dating, and somehow, things were going well. Connor was pretty happy. They got knocked out of the playoffs pretty early on this year, but it was hard to feel bad about it when half of their first line was out with injuries. Whiskey himself couldn't play after the first round because of a concussion he'd taken, and Kent wasn't taking it as hard as Whiskey had worried he would. 

"What are you doing this summer?" Kent asked as Whiskey scratched behind Kit's ears. 

Whiskey shrugged. "Same I always do. Visit Jenny and try to come up with good reasons why I can't see my parents." 

"Fun shit." 

"Yeah. I was thinking about looking into realtors, though. I know Scraps wouldn't kick me out, but I feel like I've been bothering him lately." It's not that he didn't like sharing space with another person-- he would probably be totally lonely if he was on his own-- but him and Scraps weren't really close enough for it to work. "Kit's pretty great. Maybe I'll get a cat." Mostly he liked Kit, but that was neither here nor there. The point was that Scraps didn't like furry animals. He'd told Whiskey straight out one day that he could get a pet reptile or spider if he wanted, but not a cat, dog, hamster, or guinea pig. 

"Yeah. Uh, you could do that. I've still got the number of the realtor that helped me find this place." 

"Thanks," Whiskey said, not thinking anything of it until Kent shifted awkwardly instead of giving him the number or going back to scrolling through his camera roll-- two thousand pictures of Kit interspersed with some snapshots of the team and a couple near the beginning of the two of them in non-compromising positions so no one would think about it if they saw them. 

"Or you could. Uh. Not," he offered, his words stilted. 

"What?" Whiskey had gotten better at deciphering what Kent meant when he said cryptic shit, but this was a bit much for him. 

"You could move in with me." 

Whiskey looked at him sharply. 

"It doesn't have to be like that," Kent hurried to say. "I've got an extra room you can stay in. It’s. I just." God, he must be nervous if he was stuttering this much. "I thought it would be nice if we had somewhere we didn't have to hide, y'know? I know that we're here now, doing it but. Like. Full time. We wouldn't have to say that we're hanging out all the time because we would just be home." 

"Yeah," he said, if only to get him to stop talking because it looked like he was going to keep elaborating until something made him stop. Whiskey swallowed, trying to think it over logically, but thoughts were running around his head at a lightning pace. Even if he moved into a different room, this was a big step. They'd been dating for half a year, and now they were talking about moving in together. As roommates, not boyfriends, but still. This was the first relationship Whiskey had been in, and while he definitely wanted to say hell yes and pounce on Kent as soon as Kit decided to leave his lap, he was worried that it would be a mistake. What if the only reason their relationship was going well was because they _couldn't_ spend more time together? Exposure made everyone's annoying habits the absolute worst shit ever that you had to deal with-- example: Foggy's insistence on listening to his music so loud that you could hear each and every word if you were sitting next to him; it was fine the first couple times it happened, and after the first couple dozen, you wanted nothing more than to smash his phone against the plane's window. Connor barely talking might not bother Kent that much _now_ , but what would it be like if they started living together? Hell, what if it started bothering Connor how many pictures he took of Kit? Right now, he found it endearing, but what if it started to piss him off? 

"You're thinking really hard and it's starting to worry me. Should I have kept it to myself? Shit, yeah, it was too fast. See, I kinda thought that it would be, but then you started talking about buying a place so I figured it was now or never because why would you want to move in with someone right after you drop a hundred G’s on your own place and-" Kent stopped talking when Whiskey put a hand on his head. 

It wasn't his smoothest work, but he wasn't capable of verbally responding right now and he needed for Kent to shut up for a few seconds. Whiskey sunk one hand’s fingers into Kit's fur, and the other into Kent’s hair automatically. "You won't like me as much if I'm always around." 

"I kinda doubt it." 

Whiskey relaxed his fingers on Kent’s head and retracted his hand. "If..." 

"If that _does_ happen, we'll deal with it. We've talked about dealing with a break up for the team, I don't see why it'd be any different for this." 

"Because we'd be _living_ together." 

Kent was quiet for a moment, then, "We don't have to. You can buy your own place, and it won't change anything." 

"Can I think about it?" 

"Yeah, of course," Kent said. He gave Connor a quick kiss, then got to his feet. "I'm making a smoothie, do you want some?" 

"What kind?" 

"Strawberry something." 

"Sure." 

"Cool." 

Whiskey looked down at Kit as her owner moved into the kitchen. "He," Whiskey said quietly to the cat as she looked up at him with crystal blue eyes, "is full of terrible ideas." Terrible, but tantalizing. He was having trouble combining what he logically knew and what he was feeling. Logically, he knew that it was a shit idea for people who hadn't even been dating for a year to move in together. What he was feeling though, was that they were closer than your average couple, what with being on the same team on the same line and constantly searching out extra time together. 

He'd thought that after a month or two, things would fizzle between them, and he'd been wrong. Their kisses lost the frenzy they'd had before when everything still felt raw and exciting and it felt like they were sneaking around rather than being private, but it was still intense. Every time. The simple fact of the matter was that Kent wasn't getting tired of him, and it was freaking him out. 

Kent offered him the extra bedroom to set up in, but he wasn't planning on using it very often. What would be the point in living with him if he didn't take full advantage of that? He wanted to fall asleep next to Kent, and he wanted to wake up next to him. He wanted sleepy kisses and bullshit arguments about sides of the bed and if Kit was allowed into the bed with them. 

He wanted to move in with Kent, but he was scared that Kent wouldn't want it in the same way. Whiskey knew that he'd have to talk to him about it, and he didn't feel like letting this stew between them instead of enjoying the rest of the day. When he walked into the kitchen, Kent was shoveling yogurt into the blender. Whiskey leaned against the counter next to him, arms crossed over his chest and not really looking at him. "Would I have to stay in the extra room?" 

"No. That's just- y'know, if you'd be more comfortable staying there, then you can. And you wouldn't have to get a cat if you lived here," he added. "Kit is lovely enough that we could share her and everything would be fine. Finding a new cat to get used to is more complicated than you think." 

Whiskey snorted softly. "Yeah, I'm sure. Do you even have room for my shit?" 

"As the team constantly reminds me, I am one tiny person. How much space do you think my clothes take up? It's not near as much as you're imagining, seriously. C'mon," Kent said, grabbing Connor's hand and abandoning the smoothies to drag him to his room. Hopefully, it was soon to be _their_ room. Kent let go of his hand to pull open the closet doors. "See? You have, like, three shirts that actually need to be hung up, man. We can buy a dresser for you. Or I could get rid of the drawer of tank tops that I never use." 

"I can buy a dresser." 

"It would go there," Kent said, pointing to a blank spot next to his own dresser. It sounded like he had already determined all of this in his head before time. 

"Yeah. I, um, yeah." 

"Yeah?" Kent repeated, looking over at him. 

"You sound like a dork." 

"Fuck off, you’re twice the dork I am. Are you... saying yes? Is that what this is?" 

Whiskey nodded, blushing in mild embarrassment. It only got worse when Kent cheered and threw himself into Connor's arms. 

* * *

The best thing about living with Kent was that he got to live with his boyfriend and they got to kiss whenever the hell they wanted without worrying if there was anyone else around that might see them. 

The second best thing was that nobody thought twice about them doing stuff together. They went on runs together? Yeah, why not. It helped them both keep in shape during the off season, and since they were living together, it was easier to go together than try and fix their schedules so they went at different times. They got to do everything together, from Kit's vet visits to meeting up with some of the guys for dinner, and no one thought it was weird. Kent and Connor were roommates; they were best friends; there was nothing else going on there. 

The third best thing was that with all the bro-touching that hockey guys did, they didn't have to be very careful. Neither of them liked holding hands, but an arm around the shoulders didn't get them so much as a weird glance. They couldn't kiss and any 'I love you's' had to get tamped down, but it was the best case scenario. Connor didn't want people to know they were dating, because then they'd be making jokes about sex and... yeah. He didn't want to hear that. Having their relationship only be between the two of them was pretty much exactly how he wanted it. Any story about Kent he wanted to tell didn't hinge on their being together, so it's not even like he had to edit what he told Jenny. The only detail he kept close to his chest was that they were sleeping in the same room, and after everyone knew that they had moved in together, that was easy to avoid because no one expected it. 

It was pretty damn perfect. Not picture perfect, but perfect for what he wanted. Like, it wasn't perfect that Kent never put the cap back on the toothpaste, but it also didn't make Connor want to kill him. Connor normally let his dirty clothes sit on the floor for an hour or two before he put them in the hamper, and he knew that it annoyed Kent, but not to the point that they were screaming at each other over it. Hell, after a couple weeks, they figured out compromises that worked for both of them-- like the flip top on the toothpaste they switched to and that Connor would now throw his clothes somewhere that Kent wasn't going to trip over them so he didn’t care that they were out. 

Naturally, that meant the universe was going to fuck with them. Because who was going to sign with the Aces this year, except Jack _fucking_ Zimmermann. Connor hated him; Kent didn't hate him, and Connor didn't like that Kent didn't hate him. He thought about it as their first real fight. 

...He didn't handle it very well. 

Connor didn't remember _exactly_ what he said, but he was pretty sure he screamed something at Kent about going back to the guy he actually loved before he stormed out. The air in their place felt fragile when he finally worked his way back home. 

Kent was busy cuddling Kit as he watched a rerun of How I Met Your Mother. Connor figured that was a way of punishing himself because Kent hated that show. Connor gingerly sat down next to him and muted it. 

"Hey," Connor said, because he didn't know what else to say. 

"Hey." A beat. "You know that I don't want to get back together with Zimms, right? I missed him because we were friends. I'm happy that I'm going to get to play with him again, because we were _friends_." 

"You seemed _really_ happy," Connor muttered. 

"I think of him as my first real friend. He means a lot to me, but it's not like that." 

Connor swallowed thickly. He wanted to believe Kent. Kent definitely sounded like he meant it. But... "That party at Samwell." 

Kent frowned at him. "What about it?" 

"You kissed him." Connor rubbed at his head. "Before I came upstairs to get you, you'd kissed him, right?" 

Kent didn't answer immediately, which was answer enough. "I thought it was what I wanted." 

"You made a mistake that night." 

"Exactly." 

"But we got together later. You kissed him, and he turned you down; I kiss you, and you say that you like me so we start dating. How am I supposed to take that?" 

Kit jumped off of Kent's lap, and he turned his face into Connor's shoulder. "When we started this," he said, having to raise his voice so that he could be heard over the way he had his mouth smushed against Connor's t-shirt, "I told you that I was an asshole and a mess." 

"I remember. I also remember that I told you I'd get jealous." 

Kent sighed. "And here we fucking are. Look, I have zero interest in Zimms. I don't want to kiss him, I don't want to date him, and I sure as hell don't want to fuck him. I kissed him that night because I thought it's what I wanted, and I was wrong. When I did it, I just- fuck, it felt terrible. Like, I was doing it because I thought it was going to feel good, and then it didn't. And when I was with you, it was so fucking good that I knew I'd made a mistake in that stupid room. If Zimms tried to ask me out now, I'm pretty sure I'd call him a dumbass and also, what the fuck. God, I'm not good at this." 

"You're good enough," Connor said, moving a hand to rest on Kent's thigh. He squeezed reassuringly. "I know that you wouldn't cheat on me or something. I'm…” He had to swallow a couple times before he felt ready to continue. This whole admitting to having feelings thing was bullshit. “Worried, I guess. I know how great you are, so it's hard to believe that other people wouldn't want you too." 

"You sorely overestimate how much other people like me. The list of people I've dated-- actually dated, not slept with a couple times and then never thought about again-- is like, three people. Including you." 

Connor frowned, trying to think of who that list was. Him and Zimmermann, obviously. "Who's number three?" 

"This guy, Javier. I dated him the summer after my rookie year. We broke up because he moved to California for college and we didn't like each other enough to stay in touch." 

"Hm." 

Kent tilted his head and kissed his neck. It felt good, but all Connor could think was that he was terrified of losing all of this. Kent, Kit, the room that they shared, his place on the team, the recognition he'd managed to gain... he could lose all of it, and he felt like Zimmermann was the one he'd lose it to. Maybe it didn't work that way, but he couldn't convince himself of that. 

"What's wrong?" Kent whispered, his breath puffing against the sensitive skin on the side of his neck. 

He didn't want to share every little thought going through his head, but he knew that Kent needed to know at least part of it. "He's going to replace me on the ice." 

Kent started laughing, sitting back up into his own space. "Babe. I get why you're worried, but that's never gonna happen. You and I have done too good together for you to get replaced. Besides, the way you play isn't interchangeable with how he plays. As the only person that's played with both of you, trust me on this." 

"If I have to," Connor grumbled, mostly for show. He felt fine about it for now, but he didn't think it was going to last, not when he hadn't even met Zimmermann yet. He didn't think he'd feel better after they were on the ice; that would probably just make it worse. 

* * *

Zimmermann was a rookie, but he wasn't like everyone else. Whiskey had gotten bumped up pretty quickly, and they all knew that he was going to get the same treatment. Whiskey might be the only one thinking of it in exactly those terms, but you didn't sign Jack Zimmermann and then keep him on second line. He was staying with Tubs until he found an apartment-- which Zimmermann had mentioned he was planning on doing as soon as the season ended. He didn't mean anything by it, but that didn't stop Connor from feeling like it was directed at him. He'd stayed with Scraps only until he moved in with someone else. No one was thinking of him like that. He needed to stop overthinking it. Easier said than done. 

Kent got back from a quick meeting with the coaches, and then whaddya know, it was Parson, Whisk, and Zimmermann on a line together. He was replacing Swoops as their third, and Swoops had shrugged, apparently unbothered, and said that it took the pressure off of trying to keep up with Parse and Whiskey. Then he had pat Zimmermann on the back and wished him luck. 

That first practice in their new positions was awkward, but that's how it always was after a line change. The second practice pretty clearly proved that this had been a good decision. Whiskey had already known that, but it was still fucking annoying that it was right. Kent and Zimmermann still played together like hell on skates, and there wasn't anything he could do about it. 

It was a good thing for the team. He knew that. He also knew that he was jealous and angry and kinda confused about being angry, and there wasn't really anything he could do about that either. He tried to remind himself that he and Kent had won a Stanley Cup together and that they were living together and loved each other, but all that did was make him feel insecure on top of jealous and angry. Hopefully, no one could see any of that. Whiskey was pretty sure he did a good job of covering it up, but he didn't know for sure. Considering the certainty he normally had about his control over his image, it was unsettling. 

His mood decidedly did not pick up when he started to leave the rink, bag on his shoulder, to find Kent and Zimmermann having a low conversation. They were too involved to see him coming up until he was right next to them, so he heard the tail end of Kent saying, "-not like everyone is going to like you immediately, stop freaking the fuck out." 

"It's not-" Zimmermann saw him and stopped. "Hey." 

Whiskey blinked at him. "Hey." He turned his attention to Kent. "Ready to go?" 

"Yeah. See you at practice tomorrow, Zimms," he said, patting him on the shoulder. 

"Yep, see you." 

They started walking to Kent's car. Whiskey wondered if it would be too controlling to ask what they had been talking about, or if it could pass as a normal question. He elected to say nothing because he didn't want Kent to get mad at him. 

Kent, for his part, didn't say anything until they were in the car, doors closed. "You okay?" 

"Fine." 

"I'm not sure I believe that, but alright." Kent started the car, and they listened to the radio for the drive back to their place. "You know," he said as they got out and grabbed their bags, the sounds echoing in the parking garage, "normally I wait people out when they have something on their mind, and they talk when they're ready. I keep expecting that to work with you, and it never does. So here goes the alternative method of asking you what the fuck is up with you. What the _hell_ is wrong with you right now?" 

"Nothing's wrong with me." 

"Fine, then what the fuck is bothering you?" 

Whiskey didn't feel like saying 'nothing', so he stayed quiet. 

"Is this about me and Zimms?" 

"..." 

"Right. I guess I should have expected this," Kent said, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. They got in the elevator, and he leaned against the wall, taking off his hat to ruffle his hair then put it back on again. "What about it is bothering you? In case you didn't notice, I'm home with you, not lusting after him. This is exactly where I want to be." 

"I know," Whiskey mumbled. 

"Then what's the problem?" 

Whiskey sighed, knocking his head back against the metal of the elevator wall. 

"Connor, c'mon. We can't bring this shit on the ice, we need to fix this before it becomes a problem. Zimms is with the Aces, and we're all on the same line. There's nothing we can do about that. He's not a bad guy once you get to know him. A pain in the ass, but not bad." 

"Sure." 

"What, you don't believe me?" 

Whiskey ignored that and asked, "What were you talking about?" 

"What?" 

"After practice. What were you talking about?" Real good job keeping it to yourself there, Whisk. The elevator door opened, and he quickly walked out, tossing his bag carelessly towards where they kept the shoes. 

Kent didn't answer for a moment, following into the penthouse at a slower pace. "What would you do if I said it was private?" 

"I'd say that I'm making a smoothie with spinach because I need more greens. Do you want one?" 

"Sure." 

Whiskey nodded and walked to the kitchen, opening the fridge and taking out the ingredients he was planning on using. He got everything on the counter then realized that the blender was dirty from where he'd used it this morning when he opted to have one for breakfast instead of his usual yogurt and granola. He grabbed the dish soap and started lathering it in the blender when Kent came up next to him. 

"Zimms was worried that you didn't like him. I told him that you're just kinda like that," he said with a crooked smile. 

"Sorry," Whiskey muttered. 

"Dude, it's fine. It- you can't keep hating him for no reason. He hasn't done anything to you. You don't need to like him, but you need to figure out how to be civil." 

His hands paused, and he took a deep breath. "I'll work on it." 

"Cool. Now, do you mind telling me why you're real fucking jealous of him? You're the one with a top ten selling jersey on the NHL site." 

"Yeah. How long is that going to last once he gets on the ice?" 

"You don't need to worry about Zimms. If you're playing your best game out there, what does it matter? Your career is solid no matter what Zimms does with his. The other Aces fucking love you, and I know I asked you to move in pretty quickly, but I'm not really planning on breaking up with you ever." 

"Really?" 

"Dude, you've got a Stanley cup, and the Aces know a big part of that was you, of course they-" 

"Not that," Connor said, looking over at him. 

Kent blinked. "Your career is solid?" 

Connor raised an eyebrow. 

"Fine," Kent said with an over dramatic sigh. "Yeah, I mean... you're just kinda stuck with me unless you decide to cut your losses, y'know?" 

Connor kissed him, pulling his hands from the sink to put them on Kent's waist automatically. It wasn't until they made contact that he remembered his hands were wet. "Sorry." 

"I don't give a shit." Kent pulled him in for another kiss. 

He knew, logically, that there was nothing to be worried about with Zimmermann. Getting his stupid brain to comprehend that was another story entirely. "I'm sorry that I'm being like this," he mumbled. "I trust you." 

"But what? You don't trust Zimms?" he guessed with an amused little smirk. "Baby, he's not interested. I haven't asked, but I'm pretty sure he's dating someone from Samwell." 

"Not that." 

Kent's expression turned serious again. "Then what?" 

"I don't _know_. It..." he trailed off, shaking his head. He didn't know where he was going with that because he didn't know what he was _thinking_. He gave Kent a quick kiss, then turned back to the sink to finish washing the blender. 

"I'm trying to be understanding, and you know that I don't like pushing you, but you're good, right?" 

He shrugged. 

"Connor." 

Whiskey sighed, scrubbing a piece of strawberry that didn't want to come off. "It feels like I'm in the spot everyone thought he'd be in." He hadn't realized that that's what was bugging him until the words tumbled out of his mouth. "And that was basically fine when he wasn't around, but-" 

"But now he's here and you're freaking out." 

He shrugged again, because yeah, that's what it was. 

"You're not gonna lose anything. And if it helps, Zimms doesn't like cats, so you're guaranteed to always have Kit." 

Whiskey snorted. "Does that mean I get her in the divorce?" 

"In the event of my death, you get her. Divorce is more dicey; we might have to share custody." 

* * *

The pre-season had gone well, Zimmermann was getting plenty of press, and Whiskey still didn't like him, but he was a hell of a lot better about being civil. Considering that Kent and Zimmermann were back to being friends and he hadn't freaked out like he'd sort of expected to, he was having a good time of it. 

Whiskey hadn't given his interactions with Zimmermann a lot of thought. He'd focused on the part where they could play without him being scared of losing Kent. They traded small talk in the locker room, which saved him from any awkward conversations or-- God forbid-- discussions with Zimmermann about why they weren't getting along. 

Which meant it came as a surprise when he was on the couch watching a review of their last game, and the analyzer commented on their chemistry on the ice. " _Parson and Zimmermann play as well together now as they did when they were in Juniors_ ," he said, " _but we've had three seasons of Parson and Whisk playing at that level in the NHL_." 

" _I know a lot of people were picking sides_ ," the other analyzer said. " _People were making bets for which pair would come out on top, and I think we were all surprised with the end result, Richard._ " 

The first guy-- Richard, apparently-- nodded. " _Parson plays well with both of them still, but I know that I was shocked to see the way Whisk and Zimmermann play. They don't act like two people that haven't played a season together._ " 

" _I was thinking the same thing. We didn't have to sacrifice the Parson-Whisk duo to get back Parson and Zimmermann, we get to have them all on the ice at the same time, and the result is devastating for the opposing team._ " 

" _All three of them work together like a dream for any coach_ ," he agreed. _"The season's barely started and it's clear the Aces will have a spot in the playoffs. The Aces have made it to the playoffs every year that Parson has been captain, and of course we all remember Whisk securing the Cup his rookie year. The Aces are pure gold right now, with a captain that has proven time and again he can bring them to the top, and three forwards that are making blind passes in every game._ " 

The second man nodded. There was always a lot of nodding in these segments because saying 'yes exactly' and 'yeah you're right' didn't look as good. " _I think we can expect great things from the Aces this season. Who else do you think will make it to the playoffs this year? Has any other team shown as much promise as the Aces so far?_ " 

" _The Falconers have been working on their roster, and-_ " 

Whiskey tuned out the rest of their conversation as he let that sink in. He knew that him and Kent were still great on the ice together, and he knew that Kent and Zimmermann were back to playing together like there had been no time between now and the Q. They were winning, and like the analyzers had said, they were pretty much guaranteed a spot in the playoffs. He hadn't thought about what that would mean for how him and Zimmermann were playing together; apparently, it meant they were doing fantastic. 

He picked up his phone and shot a text off to Kent. **Did you know that me and JZ are good on the ice together?**

From Kent: **Funnily enough, yes I noticed that.**

From Kent: **Are you going somewhere with this?**

From Connor: **I didn't notice.**

From Kent: **You didn't notice that you weren't going somewhere with this?**

From Kent: **Or**

From Kent: **The place you were going is that you didn't notice you were good on the ice together?**

From Connor: **2**

From Kent: **Wow**

From Kent: **It's lucky you're cute**

From Kent: **And stupid good on the ice**

From Kent: **Cause baby your brains wouldn't get you very far**

From Connor: **Get fucked.**

From Kent: **Does that mean we have plans tonight** 😏 

Whiskey rolled his eyes and didn't respond, turning his attention back to the television. He checked his calendar and saw that it was his parent's anniversary tomorrow. They had a game in New York tomorrow, which meant he was going to be on a plane for most of the day. They got all snippy with him-- sending all sorts of passive aggressive texts-- when he forgot to congratulate them or send well wishes on the big days since he refused to visit. Christmas, Easter, New Years, and Thanksgiving, he had to wish them a happy holiday and give an excuse for why he wasn't visiting. Mostly he lied and said there was practice since they didn't know better. Birthdays, anniversary, and mother's and father's day, he sent a text and sometimes a gift if they'd been more annoying than usual. 

So he composed a text in their rarely used group chat. **I'm going to be busy tomorrow (game) but I hope you have a great anniversary!** ❤️️ Whiskey pretty much never used exclamation points when he was texting, but his parents thought he was being sarcastic when he left it off; it was just easier this way. They both texted back a thank you, and that was the end of the conversation. 

* * *

The playoffs were going fucking _amazing_. It must have been a shitty season for everyone else, but the Aces were having the best goddamn time of their lives. They had another round to go, but it was the finals and _everyone_ expected for them to win. It was their last night in New York, traveling back tomorrow to Vegas for one night to rest up before the first game of the finals. 

"We should celebrate," Whiskey said, standing behind Kent in the hotel bathroom with his arms wrapped around his middle. 

"We haven't won yet." 

"No, but I feel like celebrating, and if we lose the Cup, no one's going to want to go out." 

"Since when do _you_ want to go out and celebrate?" Kent queried, looking at Connor's reflection in the mirror. 

Whiskey shrugged, pressing a kiss to the top of Kent's perpetually messy hair. "I know you like to, and you said there was some private club we could go to." 

Kent started to grin. "Yeah?" 

"Sure." Being surrounded by drunk strangers with pounding music that he didn't like wasn't usually how he wanted to spend his time, but he was in a good mood. He wanted to celebrate, and this was pretty much the only city where they'd be able to get away with it. 

"If you don't have fun, I promise to make it up to you when we get back," he said, winking at him and pressing his hips back a little so there could be absolutely no doubt what he meant by that. 

They dressed up a little-- not so much like they were going clubbing, more the way hockey bros did when they went out-- and went to the club Kent had told him about. It was a high-end place. The sort with only the rich and/or famous, where everyone had to sign an NDA to get in the door to make sure that you could act like anyone else having fun at a club and not have to worry about it being front page news the next day. There was a club like that in Vegas, only this one was a gay club (apparently Vegas didn't have enough queer people of clubbing age to warrant it). 

Kent looked like he was having the best time of his life, and Connor was-- surprisingly-- enjoying himself too. He took a couple shots, which got him loose enough that when Kent wanted to dance, he was only a _little_ nervous. They made out against one of the walls, and Connor said they had to go back to the hotel because he summarily refused to have sex in a public place. Kent said fine but he had to piss, and Connor had meant to wait for him to get out, he really really had, but... God, Kent looked so good. 

There was glitter in his hair and a pleased flush lighting up his whole face. He had a light sheen of sweat, which only served to make him look like he was glowing. His hair was a damn mess, and all Connor wanted was to put his hands in it and mess it up more. Kent was wearing pants that looked like they'd been fucking painted on, and okay maybe Connor was too horny to wait until they got back to the hotel. Kent hadn't been the one opposed to it, so Whiskey kissed him, enough intent in the way he held him that Kent immediately knew what he wanted. There wasn't a line for the bathroom-- probably because they hadn't come on a weekend-- so they weren't blocking anyone when they started making out in the doorway. 

Kent yanked him into a stall and slid the lock. "I can't believe we're about to be that couple," he chuckled. 

"Mm." Connor put his mouth on the hinge of Kent's jaw and sucked lightly. Not enough to leave a mark in the morning but he fucking loved the way Kent tasted. He bit his way down Kent's neck, and Kent let him, one hand in his shirt and the other on the back of his head. Connor reached for the front of Kent's pants, plenty of times undressing him making it easy. He shoved his hands down the back of Kent's pants, squeezing his ass as they rocked together. "I fucking love you," he breathed against his throat. 

"Are you talking to me or my ass?" 

"Both." 

Kent laughed again, nudging his head up so they could kiss, all tongue and teeth and no finesse. He reached into his back pocket for a little packet of lube he'd brought along. He ripped it open and squeezed the liquid into his hand. With his free hand, he pushed his pants down, then wrapped his other one around his cock. "I'm gonna come all over your shirt unless you get with the program in a hurry, babe." 

Connor had to let go of Kent's butt to undo his pants-- that _had_ to be a crime against humanity. He wanted his hands on Kent at all times, and the universe should really help him with that. The good news was that Kent loved him, so he wrapped his hand around both of them, jacking them off hard. There wouldn't have been enough lube for anything more than this, but it was exactly what he needed. Connor put his hands back where they were, fingertips pressing in so he could feel every shift of muscle as they thrust together. 

Kent bit down hard on Connor's lip as he came, and Connor couldn't find it in him to be pissed off about it even though it would be tender the next day because Kent's hand tightened around him and he saw _stars_. 


	4. It was only a kiss, how the fuck did it end up like this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you read the tags so you're prepared for this, but this is the chapter where Connor and Kent get outed. Here's a further warning for homophobic parents, and use of one slur on the ice by another hockey player (the specific word is stated but not the full sentence in which it's used). I know nothing about NHL so nothing negative said about a team or player is an actual opinion of mine
> 
> Also Whiskey is still on his not-liking-Jack-Zimmermann kick so take some opinions with a grain of salt

The Aces had to wake up early to catch the plane back to Vegas, which meant nobody on the team-- including the coaches and GM-- knew about it until they landed and they had access to the internet again. Connor was one of the first people to see it, because he checked his phone as soon as they landed. He hadn't looked at it at all last night except to set his alarm, so he figured he should get a head start on answering Jenny's after-game texts. 

He frowned when he saw a hell of a lot more messages than he should have had. **New Messages: 99+ Jenny, Mom, Dad, Unknown Number** He tapped on Jenny's name and unlocked his phone. 

The last message was: **I hope you're okay, call me if you need anything or want to talk.** Whiskey frowned and scrolled up until he saw a screenshot she'd sent him. He tapped on the picture, making it larger. It was a picture she'd taken of a TV screen. There was a blurry picture between two reporters with the headline large enough that he could read it. **_NHL Las Vegas Ace stars found liplocking. Guilty of misconduct?_ ** Whiskey frowned, dread starting to pool in his stomach. "What the hell?" He closed the image and saw that Jenny had sent a link to an article right under it. 

From Jenny: **I'm so sorry**

From Jenny: **Let me know what you want me to tell your parents**

From Jenny: **If you can't think of anything I just won't talk to them**

From Jenny: **I'm here for you no matter what happens**

Whiskey clicked on the link and the first paragraph was enough to convince him that he should start scoping out cemetery plots. There were pictures. Whoever the hell the sell-out was in that club, they had been thorough. There were enough pictures that there was no doubt who either of them were, and while they hadn't been close enough to eavesdrop on their conversations, they'd been watched for a while. "Shit." 

"You okay?" Bomb asked. 

Connor shook his head, then stood up, poking Kent on the head. Kent craned his neck to look up at him. "What?" Whiskey shoved his phone in his face, sitting back down after Kent took it. A few seconds later, he heard an echoed, "Shit," followed by Kent standing up and making his way over to the front of the plane where the coaches were sitting. 

Whiskey covered his face and couldn't even entertain the thought that this was a nightmare. This wasn't scary like nightmares felt, this was five kinds of icky rolled into one that only real life could manage. He hadn't wanted to come out. Ever. He'd wanted Kent, and that was it. 

A minute later, they called, "Whisk!" and he had to join them. This was too goddamn soon. He didn't want to deal with this. He didn't ever want to deal with this. 

"They can't kick us off the playoffs, can they?" Whiskey asked. 

Eric-- the head coach-- shook his head. "No, we're good there. All things considered, this is the best time for something like this to come out. Everyone will care more about the finals than who's kissing who, hopefully. Mandy and I will talk this through and keep you updated, but expect for there to be some sort of official statement. We might have to call both of you in today to talk about it." 

Kent and Whiskey both nodded. 

"Um, so, I understand that this is a private relationship, but how long has this been going on?" he asked, motioning between the two of them. 

"Year, year and a half," Kent answered. "Why?" 

Eric blew out a breath like he was relieved to hear that. "Stable relationships look better for media, and this proves that you can play together without any problems. For now, the plays should be the same as we've talked about." He handed Whiskey's phone back to Kent. "We'll try to handle this as best we can. Don't worry about it, just focus on your game, okay?" 

"Yes sir." 

Eric nodded and dismissed them. 

"You okay?" Kent asked, passing his phone over. 

Whiskey's fingers wrapped around it tightly. "Are you?" 

Kent gave him a brittle smile. "Guess we'll see." 

Great. This was just- fucking _great_. Kent had been worried that he'd get kicked off the fucking team, and they got found out because Whiskey'd done something dumb. If anything happened to his career, it would be Whiskey's fault, and they both knew it. For now though, he was going to text back Jenny because that was easier than anything else he could do. 

From Connor: **Was on the plane. Just saw this. Thanks for the heads up.**

He debated leaving it at that, but Jenny deserved better from him, especially since she'd been stressing about this for hours. 

From Connor: **If my parents bother you, tell them that they can take it up with me. You shouldn't have to field questions for me.**

From Jenny: **Ok thanks. You're my bff and all, but I don't know how much you want them to know** 💜

From Connor: **Pretty much nothing, so you made the right call.**

From Jenny: **Don't be afraid to call if you need anything**

From Connor: **K**

* * *

Zimmermann was over at their place that afternoon, after they got off the plane, and Whiskey couldn't think of a nice way to tell him to piss off, so he kept his mouth shut and pretended like he didn't mind. When an hour had passed and he was still there, Whiskey excused himself to their room. Cleaning up would do him some good, and he could always work out afterwards to relieve the extra energy he had. Whiskey was glad that his boyfriend had his best friend back, but he would have liked some fucking alone time so they could talk. 

Whiskey put his headphones in, then realized that he'd left his music in the living room. Kit eyed him suspiciously when he stepped over her, then laid her head back down when he didn't upset her position. 

He really wished that Zimmermann would stop having secretive conversations where he would come in and hear more than he wanted. 

"-worried about you. How well do you really know Whiskey? He's not a very open guy." 

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that," Kent said flatly. 

"Yeah, that's probably for the best," he agreed, running a hand through his hair. "I know how much you love this team. I'm worried you'll lose it because of this relationship." 

Whiskey reached the end of the hallway and held up his unattached headphone cord when they looked at him. "Forgot my music." 

Zimmermann had a distinct deer-in-the-headlights look. 

"You should leave," he said, because that was as diplomatic as he could be right now. 

"We'll see you tomorrow," Kent agreed. 

Zimmermann nodded, getting to his feet. "I like you Whiskey, but I'm worried about Kent. He doesn't always make the best dating decisions." 

"You mean like you?" 

"Yes," he said, zero hesitation. "Me and Kent dating was a bad decision for both of us, and I'm worried that you and I are too alike for this to work." 

"Shut up before you say something you'll regret," Kent cut in. "The... idea of you worrying about us is appreciated, but we're fine." 

Zimmermann hesitated, thinking about adding something else, but in the end, he muttered a goodbye and left. 

"If they need someone to leave, I will," Whiskey said, pulling the earbuds out since he wasn't going to be doing that anymore. Easier to talk about the bigger issue than Zimmermann and Connor’s continuing problems with him. 

"What? No, we'll be fine. They're not going to do anything to either of us. You heard them earlier; everyone's more concerned with this last round than who's fucking who." 

Whiskey wasn't sure he trusted that as a permanent answer for them, but that wasn't the point he was trying to make. "Just in case. If it gets decided that we can't play together anymore, I want you to know that I'll be the one to step back." 

"That won't happen," Kent said with all the determination of someone trying to speak it into being. 

It wasn't worth the argument when neither of them really knew what would happen, so Whiskey let it go. Those pictures being released made them the first two out members of the NHL. There wasn't a precedent for what to do in this situation, so it depended entirely on how people were currently reacting to it. "Did you see the full article?" 

"No. I got the gist from the very beginning and decided to call it good, thanks," Kent said flatly. He sighed and burrowed himself back in the couch. "Sorry about Zimms. He feels guilty for not talking to me for so long that he's overcompensating for it now. If it helps, I don't think he has any sort of problem with you." 

"It doesn't." 

Kent shrugged. "Worth a shot. You gonna stand over there the whole time or are you gonna join me?" 

Whiskey walked over and sat next to him. 

"Did you read the full article?" 

He shook his head. "I want to. Just to- you know. See what all is out there." 

"Sounds smart. No time like the present, right?" he said, grabbing his phone and pulling it up. Whiskey leaned in, and they both read it silently. Kent checked in with him before scrolling down, and eventually they reached the end. There was nothing conclusive in it other than the pictures and confirming that it was them. For the most part, it was speculation on if this was the first time for them, if it was a relationship, or if they hit up gay clubs after all their wins. It declared them the first two out members of the NHL even though neither of them had made a statement to corroborate that. It also mentioned their current standing in the playoffs and the trophies both of them had. The article wasn't overtly supportive, but it had that shading rather than condemning them, which was more than Whiskey had been expecting. 

"Can we look at the pictures again?" Whiskey asked. He knew they were from the club, but he hadn't paid them very much attention the first time. The one at the top was of them kissing, but that's all he remembered. Their faces weren't very clear in that one, but there were enough other pictures that had their faces recognizable that it was obvious who they were. "So much for people following NDA's." 

"I'll mention it to everyone when we go in, that way they know we did our best to keep it under wraps. That should keep them from getting too pissed at us." 

Whiskey nodded, eyes stuck on the picture where Kent's hands were on his ass. He'd had a good time in public for once, and this was the result. It was enough to make him never want to leave the house again-- except for practices and games, of course. His phone started to ring, and he startled. He froze when he saw the name: Mom. He hadn't answered his parents' texts because he hadn't looked at them. They'd been pretty clear about how they felt about 'those sort of people' back when he was thirteen, and he had no reason to think their opinions had changed. He had the strong urge to reject the call, but he still slid it to answer. "Hello?" 

"Connor," Mom said. It was kind of amazing how much disapproval she could convey in one word. 

There was a long pause as she waited for him to say something-- beg for forgiveness or some shit-- and he let her sit there. She was the one that called him, that meant she was the one with something to say. If he wanted to talk to her or Dad, he would've called them. 

"Your father and I," she said primly, "heard some disturbing rumors today." 

Another silence as she waited, in vain, for him to start spilling his guts. He thought him refusing to visit would have let her know that they weren't exactly close. He didn't want to tell her anything, and he thought that was pretty damn obvious. 

"There are pictures of that... captain of your team with another man, and all of these sites are convinced you're the one he's kissing." 

So that's how she was justifying it to herself: Kent was the evil gay man, and Whiskey was the poor boy that trusted him too much. "So?" 

"You know dear, if you made some sort of statement, I'm sure everyone would forget about it. You and Jenny have been together for so long-" 

"I love him," Whiskey cut in. If he was out to everyone that followed NHL news, he might as well be out to his parents. It was the first time he'd told someone other than Kent how he felt, and it didn't really feel good. It kinda felt like he was going to throw up. "It is me in those pictures. If you can't handle having a gay son, then don't bother calling me." 

Another long silence. Kent put a hand on his knee, a reminder that he was there. Connor had to check his screen to see if his mother had hung up. The call still said connected. 

"Mom?" 

Some rustling on the other line, then his dad was talking. "Hello Connor." Amazing how parents could try to give you a guilt trip for being yourself. 

"Unless you have something different to say than Mom, I don't want to hear it." 

"Connor," he said, tone disapproving. "Your mother is crying because of what you said to her. She loves you even if you don't make decisions we're proud of-" 

"I'm not going to do that. Why don't _you_ console her. You can sit together and try to pray the gay out of me or whatever it is people like you do. I don't want to hear from you again." He ended the call, sending a wriggle of pain up his finger from how hard he hit the screen. 

Kent didn't ask if he was okay, he just pulled him into a hug. "Shitty parents, am I right?" he said quietly. "Do you need anything?" 

"If I asked for pie, would you give me any?" 

"Right before the finals? Baby, I think _you'd_ kill me if I did that for you." Kent snuggled closer and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. 

Whiskey let out a shaky breath. "Yeah. Didn't think so." He curled into Kent, tossing his phone on the ground. It had only gotten him into trouble today anyways. When he got up, he was going to have to remember to delete the messages from unknown numbers. Everyone that he could possibly want to hear from was already in his contacts list-- and even that included some people he never cared to talk to, including, now, his parents. This wasn't a surprise. Whiskey had barely let himself think that he was gay growing up. He'd always known how his parents would react to that information. They weren't close, but he'd wanted to keep the peace because that's what families did; they kept their mouths shut about things that would upset their parents, and they all pretended that they got along. He'd known that his parents were homophobic, so he'd had one more reason to keep it secret. "I knew they wouldn't be okay with it, but I thought they'd hide it a little better," he mumbled. 

"Yeah." 

"What did your parents do when they found out?" Not that he was sure if they'd ever found out. He knew that Kent didn't talk to them anymore and assumed that him being gay was the reason. 

"No dad to speak of. My mom kinda freaked out when I told her, but it would've been fine if she hadn't gotten married again. Her new husband is a fucking douche, and he had some pretty strong opinions about it. Like it was some disease they'd all catch if I still talked to them." 

He knew the feeling. Hell, he'd seen it happen to someone at high school. "She picked sides?" 

"Yep," Kent said, rubbing Connor's back in what he hoped was a comforting manner. "She said I could come home when I would be setting a good example for my half-siblings, and I said that I'd rather fuck a cactus on live television than pretend to be someone I'm not." He gave a small shrug. "It's just as well, none of those kids liked me anyways, and she was always ragging on me for living so far away and not visiting more often." 

"My dad said I should visit more often because I live close." 

"I've met, like, two different people's parents that I didn't hate. Swoops, cause his parents are pretty nice and made the whole team sweaters this one time, and Jack's." 

"I can't believe you met Bad Bob." 

"Met? I've _skated_ with Bad Bob. I mean, he was retired then, obviously, but it was still pretty fucking sweet. I was some nothing kid and I got to skate with one of the greatest hockey players in NHL history." 

"It's hard to imagine you being nobody," Whiskey mumbled. 

Kent hummed noncommittally. 

Connor took a deep breath, then pushed himself up so they could have a more normal conversation. "I never wanted to come out." 

"Yeah," Kent said, as if they'd talked about this before. It was easy to guess, but he'd never said it in as many words. "I'd thought about it, but I wasn't going to do anything while we were dating. I was probably going to do it after I retired, actually. Like, I'd have all these trophies that no one could contest, and then I'd say 'by the way, I was gay the whole time' that way I wouldn't have to deal with it effecting my career but I could still give some people hope. The You Can Play group, right? I don't even know what this is going to do to us. I didn't think I was going to have to deal with it, so I haven't thought about it before." 

"Yeah. Bomb does a lot of stuff with that group to support his brother, doesn't he?" 

Kent nodded. "I'm sure the other guys will be cool with it. Or at least pretend to be cool with it because they can't afford to make enemies of the goalie and half the first line." 

"And the captain." 

"And the captain," Kent agreed with a smirk. "I don't think any of the coaches would tolerate that sort of shit anyways. It's not a good look to be homophobic these days, even in pro sports." 

"Keep the good news coming," Connor joked weakly. 

"I think we'll be fine," Kent said, expression turning serious. "Honestly. If there wasn't an issue with us living together, I doubt there will be one for this." 

They both knew that those weren't the same thing, but Kent was trying his best to keep both of them from freaking out and he wasn't going to ruin that. "Yeah," Connor said, going back in for a hug (he was mopey, so sue him), "we'll be fine." He wasn't going to let Kent lost his captaincy for something he'd done, and as for everything else... he'd take it all as it came. 

* * *

The whole Aces admin team told them that they were fine for the finals and to focus on playing. "Win or lose, we'll have to revisit this when the season's over," Eric said, and they both nodded. Most NHL focused articles coming out were about the finals, not speculating about their relationship or what went on in the Aces locker room. 

There wasn't any official problem from the pictures, and that was good. There was an unofficial problem, and that sucked ass. The thing about body checks was that you could tell when it was a normal part of play, and when the other guy was going out of his way to make it harder than it needed to be. Whiskey was pretty sure he had never fallen on his ass this much since the first time he put on skates, and he didn't need for Parse to take his shirt off to know that his left side was going to be one giant bruise. 

The first game was pretty rough, but they managed to win in overtime. They lost games two and three, won the fourth, and game five was looking like a goddamn shit show. It's not that the Canadiens were playing better than them, it's that there were a shit ton of penalties, and getting any sort of control over the puck was proving nearly impossible. The one goal that they'd made this game had been when the Canadiens switched out their goalie. 

They were in the third period now, and no one was pulling their punches. Whiskey didn't have a problem brushing off the passive homophobia bullshit because he was focused on the game and mostly able to convince himself that this was just how the games in the final were. Some fucking dickwad with Henderson on the back of his jersey decided to ruin that for him. The guy was closer to Zimmermann than him when he said it, and all Whiskey could remember, later, was that Henderson had called him a fag. Zimmermann hadn't fucking hesitated. He'd dropped his stick and yanked a glove off, and it was pretty impressive to see him in a fight. He'd had a reputation back at Juniors, but he hadn't started a single fight this season. Until now. When someone called Whiskey a slur. 

They managed to win that game, but it just put more pressure on the next one. Whiskey talked more now than he'd done before, but most of that was with Kent, so it didn't even feel like it counted. Point is, when the game was over, Whiskey made his way over. "Hey Zimms." 

Zimms looked up from where he was still sitting, texting someone on his phone. 

"Thanks for uh." Whiskey nodded towards the ice. "Out there." 

"Course. Gotta look out for the other guys on your team, right?" he said, pairing it with a small smile. 

Whiskey could take that and nod, but that would leave them in pretty much the same spot where they'd been before. "Yeah, but you know that I never really liked you, and I know you don't like that me and Kent are together." 

"That makes it sound like I want you to break up," Zimms muttered. "I'm worried, that's all. I don't know you well enough to judge if you're good together or not. You getting outed just... makes me nervous." He scratched at the back of his head. "I know that it's none of my business, but Kent's been through enough shit that I don't want him to get hurt again." 

* * *

They won the Cup. Again. Connor couldn't stop grinning, and this victory wasn't necessarily _better_ than that first one, but it felt so goddamn good. 

Also, celebratory sex? So much better than drinking the night away like he'd done his rookie year. 

* * *

Summer was always the worst time for hockey players that had something that could be gossiped about. For example, Connor. And Kent. And Zimms got pulled into it too since there had been some rumors from Juniors about him and Kent that nobody had forgotten about. The pictures resurfaced, and now they were shown side-by-side with every interaction they'd had on camera when they weren't on the ice-- and when they _were_ on the ice, it was the shots where they were right beside each other or hugging because they'd just won a game and everyone on the team was hugging. 

Everyone was freaking the fuck out about their relationship, and with nothing else going on, it was kind of blowing up. Whiskey could have done without pictures of his boyfriend grabbing his ass being on the news, but whatever. The only effect it had had on his life so far was that Kent took pictures of him and Kit snuggling and posted them on his personal twitter. 

Which meant that he should've been expecting for shit to take a hard left turn, but he ended up being blindsided when he got called into the office after a family skate. 

Mandy was there waiting for him. Eric clapped him on the back and said that he'd be right back. "As your GM, I have to tell you that you're getting traded to the Providence Falconers. Barring any emergency or unforeseen circumstances, you should be flying out in a month. If you have a preference for the exact date, let me know as soon as you can. If not, I'll let you know when we buy the tickets. This should give you time to start looking for a house or apartment. I have a list of some realtors in the area if you need it." 

Whiskey blinked. It felt like the floor had been taken out from under him. He kept his expression even because Mandy was just doing her job and panicking wasn't going to do him any good. He’d lose the A, but that’s what happened when people got traded. He’d be able to work his way back up in Providence. Probably. "Can you email the list to me?" 

"Of course." 

"Thank you." 

"Um. Connor," she said awkwardly, looking uncomfortable in her own skin now that the official part of the conversation was over. "I want you to remember that this isn't personal. Trades happen every year no matter a player's performance." 

Eric came back into the room. "Everything good?" he asked, shutting the door behind him. 

"Yes," Mandy said with a small, slightly discomfited smile. 

Eric nodded. "Good. Whisk, do you have a minute to talk?" 

"Don't have anywhere else to be." Until a month from now, when he was supposed to move halfway across the fucking country and barely ever see Kent. 

"I know it's a sensitive topic, but this is because of your relationship with Parson." Eric at least looked sorry about it. "Official NHL rules have been updated that a player can't have romantic or sexual relations with anyone ranked higher than them on cap space. Our options were to trade you, force one of you into retirement, or demote Parson. I'm sure you can agree that this was the best choice for everyone involved." 

"Of course," Whiskey said. "It was a pleasure working with you." He held a hand out to him because that's what you said to your coach when you left. 

"You too, Whisk," he said with someone like a kind smile. "The Falconers will take good care of you." 

Whiskey gave Mandy a nod goodbye, then left. His phone buzzed with a text from Kent, letting him know that he was waiting at the car for him. It felt like he was in a daze as he went back to grab his bag. This wasn't going to be the last time he was at this rink or on this ice, but the skate this morning with everyone's families was going to be the last time he did that with the Aces, knowing that they were a team. He wasn't going to play with the Aces for a game-- probably not ever again. Pretty much no one stuck with a single team for their entire career, but Whiskey had gotten comfortable here. Living with Kent and Kit in the penthouse was where he'd felt at home for the first time since he was a kid, before he got old enough that he stopped getting along with his parents. 

It's not like he was on the verge of tears, but he felt icky. Unspeakably icky, like he was slogging through mud. 

Kent didn't say anything about it as they got in the car, but when they were back at their place-- the home that Whiskey was going to have to move out from in less than a month-- he said, "So I know you don't care for family skate babe, but this seems a little much. You okay?" 

"...I'm getting traded to Providence." 

Kent froze with one foot up to pull off his shoe. "What?" 

"They had to write up rules for inter-team dating." 

"So- what, you're moving?" He put his foot back down with the shoe still on, staring at Whiskey. 

"In a month." 

Kent stared at him with wide eyes like he didn't know what to do with that, and Whiskey looked back evenly. If Kent was hoping he had a good response for this situation, he was going to be disappointed. "Shit," he breathed. 

"We knew something was going to happen," Whiskey said with a shrug, like this didn't bother him; Kent knew better. The truth was that it had been a couple weeks since they won the Cup (again), and they'd both been lulled into a sense of false security. 

Kent broke the eye contact, glaring at the floor as he yanked his other shoe off and threw it angrily on the floor. "This is bullshit." 

"This is the best case scenario." 

"Best case," Kent repeated, voice deceptively light. "That's great. And here I was afraid that you'd be sad to barely ever see me, but who knows? Maybe this is the easiest way of breaking up with someone. I'll be sure to let the rest of the guys know, just in case any of them find themselves in a similar situation." Kent stomped towards their room, not giving him another glance. 

Whiskey rubbed at his eyes. That could have gone better, but it wasn't very surprising either. Kent had a tendency to think people wanted to leave him, and it's not like Connor went out of his way to reassure him that he was in this for the long haul too. Whiskey walked over to their room, not sure what he was going to say to make him feel better. Even if he told Kent that he loved him, would it make a difference? He was still going to have to move, and they wouldn't be able to see each other all the time anymore. 

Kent pulled his shirt off and threw it at the hamper; it missed, and he didn't bother to pick it back up. He opened a dresser drawer for a new shirt, but his fingers tightened on the handles before he could pick one up. His movements had been jerky and angry, and now it looked like he was just trying not to explode. 

Connor came up behind him and wrapped an arm around his stomach. "I love you," he said quietly. "We can... if you want to break up, we can. But I don't want to do that." The arm around Kent tightened without Whiskey meaning for it to. "I don't want to lose you." 

For a minute, Kent didn't relax, and they stood there, not moving. "It was stupid to think nothing was going to happen," Kent muttered, leaning his head back against Connor's shoulder. "Most of the guys don't see their girlfriends as much as we got to." 

"I'm going to miss you," Connor whispered, turning his head to press a lingering kiss to Kent's cheek. "So fucking much." 

* * *

From Connor: **Hey man. I'm getting traded to Providence for this next season. It's your senior year at Samwell, right?**

From Jenny: **Should be** 🤞 

From Jenny: **DUDE. Providence?????**

From Jenny: **Google maps is telling me that it's only like 45 mins away, this is going to be so great!!!**

From Jenny: **Wait**

From Jenny: **Did something happen with Parson?**

From Connor: **New rule in the league about dating your captain. The Falconers should be fine.**

From Jenny: **Yeah they were one of the first teams to make a supportive statement for us queers**

From Jenny: **Tho technically it was for queer people that actually play hockey so I don't count**

From Jenny: **But whatever. You okay?**

From Connor: **Yeah.**

Connor looked at him phone for a minute then sent another text. 

From Connor: **I'm not looking forward to trying to make a long distance relationship work.**

He'd gotten used to spending pretty much every single day with Kent, not to mention that this was his first relationship so he didn't even have an idea of how to make this work. Maybe if he was like Jenny and was constantly texting, it would be fine, but he was himself and his relationship with his phone was mostly that it was there. He'd have to figure out how to work facetime. He already had Skype on his laptop, but since Jenny was the only person he used it for, he didn't remember how to add a new friend or whatever the fuck they called it there. 

From Jenny: **You'll be fine! Google is telling me that lots of phone calls and texts (mostly love notes but I'm not sure how much we can really expect from you in that area) are the way to make a long distance relationship work, so maybe get better about knowing what to say when you're on the phone**

Connor snorted, then brought up the email Mandy had sent him with the list of realtors. Finding an apartment was a pain for people that wanted to settle down, but all he planned on doing there was sleeping and having a place he could call Kent from. He wasn't going to try and make it a new home; it was just going to be a place where he stayed between practices.


	5. Out and I've been doing just fine

Whiskey hated it here. It was too fucking cold, and the Falconers were... nice but it was pretty damn obvious that they thought of him as 'Parson's boyfriend' before anything else. They did the supportive thing. The coaches reassured him that it wasn't a problem and that he could talk to them if he had any problems-- not that they thought there _would_ be a problem, of course, but just in case he wanted the help, it was available to him. That’s the word they always used to talk about it. ‘Problem’. It wasn’t ‘if someone is homophobic’; it was ‘if someone gives you a _problem_ ’. Every single member of the admin team came up to him at different times and assured him that he had support in the League. 

Everyone was being so supportive that Connor wanted to never talk to them again. He didn't want to be a symbol for other gay players or something; he just wanted to play hockey. 

His phone rang, and it was Kent, so he picked up. "Hey." 

" _Hey. I was going to start this call by telling you that I missed you, but honestly baby, I think Kit misses you more. She keeps jumping on your pillow and glaring at me. Like it's my fault? I want him here just as much as you do, princess_ ," Kent said, the last sentence directed at Kit instead of Connor. 

"It's not my fault Kit has good taste." 

" _Yeah well I keep getting scratched on the face when I run into her in the middle of the night, so maybe she should have a little less good taste_." 

"Good luck convincing her of that. How're the Aces?" 

"... _Good, I guess. It's weird playing with Zimms and not you. Y'know, I've played with you longer than him, which is weird to think about since I spent so long wanting to be on the same team as him again._ " 

"You're not helping me feel better." 

" _Shit, you're in a bad mood? What happened?_ " 

Connor wanted to sigh. He'd told Kent that he would get tired of this, and the distance was not helping. Zimms was his best friend, and it's not like Connor thought that Kent would cheat on him or something, but fucking hell he didn't like this at all. Parse and Zimms, together again, and Whiskey conveniently out of the way this time. It was ridiculous, and he knew that. If he could convince his emotions of the same, that would be nice. "It's not like I'm in a bad mood, I just..." 

" _Is this about Zimms?_ " 

Connor didn't answer, and Kent sighed, the noise sounding crackly through the phone. 

" _We've been over this, baby. I don't like him; he doesn't like me. What else is there to say?_ " 

Connor kind of felt like banging his head against the wall. He did, just once, to see if it would help him feel better. It didn't. "This isn't... I'm not afraid that you're going to cheat on me. That's not what this is." 

" _Then what is it? In my experience, that's what jealousy is._ " 

"Maybe we should use a different word for this, then," he said, rubbing at where he’d hit his head against the wall. 

" _Let me see if I'm getting this right. You don't like that me and Zimms are friends, but you're not afraid that we're going to get together. You don't like when I talk about him, but you know that I don't have any feelings for him. You don't have a problem with Zimms anymore, but you're still worried about this. Somehow._ " 

"I distinctly remember telling you that I was going to get jealous over little shit." 

" _Yeah, but I thought you meant little shit like me flirting with someone that I don't care to see again, not me hanging out with my best friend. Who, I might add, is on the same line as me under my captaincy so I couldn't avoid him even if I wanted to. Which I don't. You know I like to make you happy and shit, but I'm not going to stop talking to one of my friends._ " 

"I wouldn't ask you to." 

" _Then what's the problem?_ " 

"I don't know." 

" _...Okay well now I'm just confused_ ," Kent said. " _Do you have a problem with me and Zimms being friends or not?_ " 

"I don't know." He didn't think so, not anymore, at least. 

" _Well that answered absolutely nothing. Whatever, let me know when you figure it out._ ” On anyone else, that sentence would’ve sounded passive aggressive, but Kent was just letting him know where he was with this situation. _“How's playing with the Falcs?_ " 

"Weird." 

" _Having any problems?_ " 

Problems. There was that phrase again. All these euphemisms were starting to grate on him. No one would've cared to ask if he was having the usual problems of moving to a new place and playing with a new team. People asked because he was out-- for better or worse. How he would have issues before they'd played a single game, he didn't know. "I'm pretty sure everyone wants to ask me what you're like in bed but they're afraid that they'll get in trouble." 

Kent laughed. " _Tell them the truth: I am gorgeous and attentive and they wish they could try me out._ " 

"Yeah, I'm not saying any of that." As if to prove that he wasn’t run of the mill jealous, the joke made him roll his eyes, not get angry. 

" _Not even the part about me being gorgeous? I thought we could agree on that much._ " 

"I'm not going to tell people I think that. They have eyes; they can see it for themselves." 

" _Aww, you say the sweetest things. I have to coerce you into it, but you say them and that's enough for me._ " 

"Fuck off." 

" _What, halfway across the country isn't good enough for you? I don't think they'd like me in Russia. Too gay._ " 

"You're horrible." 

" _Another reason they wouldn't accept me,_ " Kent said, as if agreeing with him. " _Quick question: how do you feel about phone sex?_ " 

"Like I'm not going to do it right now." 

" _I'm just sayin', if we wait until we can actually meet up every time, I'm going to pounce on you no matter who else is around. I got way too used to regular sex. I've been ruined for this waiting around bullshit that everyone else has to do._ " 

"I didn't say no; I said not right now." 

" _That's the best thing you've ever said to me. So, what- like twenty minutes? An hour? Two hours might be pushing it. Or is this like a business thing where I have to submit a request for phone sex three days ahead of time?_ " 

Connor glanced at the clock on his microwave. "It can be in forty minutes if you let me eat something." 

" _Awesome. Amazing. Do I have to hang up or can you eat and pretend to listen to me at the same time?_ " 

"I listen to you." 

" _I'm pretty sure if I started talking about Vampire Diaries again, you'd tune out._ " 

"That's because it's Vampire Diaries." 

" _I'm going to pretend I don't hear that tone of loathing in your voice because it's a great show._ " 

"It's a soap opera." 

" _It's a soap opera with great funding, fuck you. Plus, vampires._ " 

"You say that like vampires are a bonus." 

" _Everyone loves vampires! Swoops likes vampires._ " 

"Good for Swoops. You can talk his ear off about it. My life was happier before you decided watching vampire shows would be a good way to replace me." 

Kent snorted. " _Yeah, these things are entertaining, but trust me, they aren't doing shit to replace you. If they were, I wouldn't be cuddling a pillow right now._ " 

"Is it my pillow?" 

" _...Maybe. It's bullshit, it doesn't even smell like you anymore. It kinda smells like cat shampoo since Kit keeps sitting on it._ " 

"Better than it smelling like her litter." 

" _God, don't remind me. Anyways, you're supposed to be eating and listening to me talk. Start eating. So the new rookies are intimidated, like, more than usual. I'm not sure if it's a me-thing or a Zimms-thing or if it's that we won the Cup last season, but it's not going super well. They're too nervous to actually speak up, and they keep fumbling. I've seen their tapes, they're not this bad. Last practice? Poor little fucker dropped the puck bucket and had to pick them all up again._ " 

"Mhmm." 

* * *

Whiskey didn't click with anyone on the ice like he'd done with Kent. It wasn't surprising, and it's not like he'd been hoping for that sort of connection, but he'd gotten pretty used to it. He was still a good player, but he'd played better games for the past three years and they all knew it. No one expected more from him though, and he was happy that the pressure he'd almost cracked under his first year was now gone. If he'd come here for his rookie year, he definitely wouldn't be the player he was today. The guy he would've turned out to be on a different team wasn't the person that could tell his parents to accept him or fuck off. 

He'd had one visit out to Vegas so far, and it was only for a day and a half. He'd split his time between petting Kit and kissing Kent. Kent took a selfie of the three of them and captioned it: **Family reunions are the best**. Since their relationship was official, he actually got to put it on Twitter. Kent may not have planned on coming out during his career, but he took great joy in taking pictures and posting them on social media. Whiskey was making a lot of appearances with Kit on both Instagram and Twitter, and it was easy to re-post them on his accounts. Plus it looked better that way. He got the feeling that he wasn't doing as much activism as everyone wanted to see from him, but Connor wasn't an activism kind of guy. He gave to charities, but getting personally involved felt like too much pressure; he just didn't get along with people and trying to pretend otherwise wasn't going to do anyone any favors. 

The Falcs were good. Getting better, now that they'd had a few games and some time to get used to him. Guy, Marty, and Thirdy were the oldest guys on the team, and they'd been chill with it-- lifting a worry that he hadn't even known he had until it was proven unnecessary. Tater was super supportive. Off the wall supportive, really. It was kind of weird, but Connor didn't give a shit because that's just how Tater was. 

Things got a little weird when they found out they were playing the Aces soon. The head coach actually pulled him aside to ask if he'd be okay, and Whiskey had blinked at him and said, "Kent and I are capable of playing against each other." He had to hold back the urge to add 'because we're, you know, fucking professionals'. What he'd said was what they wanted to hear, and he go the distinct impression that they talked to the rest of the team about it when he wasn’t around, because no one else asked him about it. 

Skating out there before the game started was surreal. He saw all the Aces jerseys around him, but he wasn't playing with him. Jenny was in the audience, wearing the blue Falconers jersey that Connor had sent her when he got traded. She was sitting next to a group of people all wearing Aces jerseys that cheered loudly when they saw Jack; it must be the Samwell section of the stands. 

Connor gave Kent a wave and had it returned, but getting all mushy before the game wasn't going to help either of them convince their teams that they were fine to play against each other. 

All in all, the game was going well until the very end when Kent got a goal and immediately followed the puck by crashing into Snowy and the net. There was a bit of a dog pile, with Kent at the very bottom and his helmet lost somewhere on the ice. Everyone was pissed. Talking shit was a pretty integral part of playing hockey, but Whiskey was drawing the line when people started calling Kent some pretty specific names. "Guys, chill. He didn't mean to." 

As the other players started getting to their feet and fanning out, the refs reviewed the footage to see if the goal was good. Connor offered him a hand up. 

"Are you trying to get my team to hate you?" 

"It was an accident," Kent said, rolling the shoulder that he'd taken most of the weight on. 

"Hell of an accident," Zimms said. 

Connor snorted, picking up Kent's helmet and handing it back to him. 

The referee started to talk and they quieted down. "After video review, the call on the ice stands. Aces goal." 

There was a mixture if cheering and booing depended on which color everyone was wearing. 

"Two seconds will be added to the clock." 

Kent had a particularly smug smirk on his face, and Connor rolled his eyes, knocking a glove against his helmet-- safely on his head once again. "Yeah, yeah, you ass, laugh it up." They all got back to their places, the puck dropped, and the game was going once again. 

The Aces ended up winning, which wasn't very surprising. At least, not to Connor. He had to wait around after the game for Kent to be done with the media, but he didn't mind. He missed Kent like crazy, and they were going to be able to spend the rest of the night together, along with a good portion of the next day. 

As warned, Kent kind of jumped on him when he was done, and they both almost went down-- Whiskey had been surprised, okay? Those bags weighed a ton, and Kent wasn't exactly light. "Fucking hell, I missed you," Kent muttered, tucking his face into Connor's neck. "That penthouse used to be a normal size, and now it's empty all the goddamn time." 

"I didn't take up that much space." 

"Shut up, you know what I mean. Uh, also sorry to spring this on you-" 

"Then don't," Connor grumbled. 

"Zimms wants a place to meet up with his hockey bros from college." 

Connor groaned, just a little. Too much time with Kent had made him dramatic. 

"And since you're the only one with a place in the city..." 

"I'm not hosting." 

"You don't need to host. They want a space to talk and catch up." 

"Go to a bar," Connor said, but he already knew that he was going to agree. 

"Zimms wants to hang out with his boyfriend somewhere they won't get put in the gossip rags." 

"Like us?" 

"Like us," Kent agreed. "Please? I'll make it up to you when they all leave." 

"We could've had the whole evening alone if you weren't such a bleeding heart," he muttered. 

"Are you talking about me?" Kent asked, amused. “Baby, you realize that you're the only person that thinks this highly of me, right? Everyone else thinks I'm an irredeemable asshole." 

"They've never seen you with Kit," Connor said dryly. 

Kent hummed, giving him a quick kiss before letting his arms fall away so he could grab his phone. "I'll text Zimms." 

He figured he should invite Jenny, since she was in the area already and could probably catch a ride back with one of them-- assuming she hadn't driven in with them to start with. Before the night was over, Connor knew he was going to regret this. 

...It didn't take long. 

It's not like he hated Zimms or his friends, but in general he wasn't comfortable with PDA. It didn't matter that it was his apartment because there were people other than him and Kent around. Which meant that he _wanted_ to cuddle on the couch, but he had to settle for an arm around his shoulders and even that felt like too much. 

A nervous guy introduced to him as Chowder was looking at them with something like awe. "It's just so amazing that you're the first out players in the NHL and you have, like, two Stanley Cups each and you're such great players!" 

"Uh. Thanks," Connor said, since although Kent was at his side, he was busy talking to someone named Shitty-- it sounded like someone else watched Vampire Diaries and managed to follow what was happening and they had differing opinions on someone named Katherine. 

"You're great role models, and that's- it's just amazing." 

Connor knew Chowder meant it as a compliment. For fuck's sake, there were practically stars in his eyes when he said that. But all Connor could think was that he didn't _want_ to be a role model. He hadn't wanted to come out. There was nothing about him to aspire to. Connor cleared his throat awkwardly. 

Zimms ended up being the one to come to his rescue, his boyfriend by his side, and the conversation turned to the much safer topic of hockey. Whiskey asked about their season at Samwell, and Chowder and Bitty took off-- as it turned out, Bitty could talk a mile a minute. 

Connor had to excuse himself to get some air, standing in the hallway outside the apartment. He leaned against the wall and slid to the ground. Jenny silently joined him a minute later, resting her head on his shoulder. 

It took a minute before she said anything. "You seem to be taking all of this really well. The move, coming out..." 

He didn't answer for several seconds, considering not saying anything. But Jenny didn't need that from him, and he kinda wanted to talk to someone about it. Kent had enough to deal with without Connor adding to it needlessly. "I'm not." 

"You want to talk about it?" she offered. 

He thought about it, then shook his head. "What's up with you? You have a girlfriend now, right?" He was pretty sure she had mentioned someone the last time they talked. 

"Yeah, her name's Vic. She's pretty cool. Not sure I want to introduce you guys yet; it's pretty new." 

"You don't think it'll last," Connor summarized. 

"...If you want to be blunt, yeah." Jenny sighed, and neither of them moved. "I know shit's hard for you right now, but I think I'd rather be in your shoes." 

"How's that?" 

"You and Parse. You're so happy together, and like, he's your first boyfriend isn't he? I feel like all I've been doing at college is dating all the wrong people. I find out that she likes women too, we go on a couple dates, and one month later we break up." 

"Maybe that's the problem." 

Jenny sighed again. "Let me guess. You're thinking that I shouldn't settle for just any other woman I meet because I deserve better? Not all of us get a prince charming our first year out of our parent's house. If I want love, I have to work for it." 

She didn't want advice, and Connor didn't really have any to give, so they fell into silence again. 

"I'm gonna go back in," she said, sitting up and rolling her neck. "You coming?" 

He shook his head. 

She went in, and a minute later Zimms came out. 

"Are you taking turns to come bother me?" Whiskey asked. 

"I can go back in," Zimms offered, and Connor scoffed. Him and Zimms didn't talk. If he was out here now, he had something important on his mind. Connor not being in the best mood wasn't going to stop him. "I euh, wanted to talk to you about Kent." After a moment's deliberation, Zimms joined him on the floor, but he was sitting across from Connor so they could look at each other. "I know that I wasn't very supportive of your relationship before." 

Connor just looked at him. If Zimms was waiting for him to say it was okay, he was going to be waiting a long time. 

"Sorry. I just wanted what's best for Kent, and I know now that I was wrong." 

"Okay." 

"You're- euh, you're good for him. He really cares about you." 

Yeah, he knew that, thanks. He used to have reasons to not like Zimms, y'know, back when him and Kent were just starting out. And then again when Zimms joined the Aces. Everyone had been comparing them, and then he'd thought that Parse would jump at the chance to get his first boyfriend back. Now, it was more like... well, he still hadn't figured it out. There was something about Zimms that rubbed him the wrong way. "No offense, but I don't like you. I don't like a lot of people, don't take it personally. Your opinion about me doesn’t really matter; same as my opinion of you shouldn’t matter."

Zimms looked at him for a moment, then shrugged. "Alright. How are the Falconers?" 

"They're okay. Pretty sure half of them hate Kent for sliding into Snowy tonight." 

"I almost signed with Providence." 

Connor wondered why, but he didn't bother to ask. Most people elaborated if he gave them enough time instead of the prompting questions they were used to. 

"I flipped a coin when I couldn't decided between the Aces and the Falconers. I got Falcs and was disappointed, so," Zimms trailed off, shrugging. If Connor cared, he would note that Zimms looked uncomfortable in his own skin. 

"Fascinating," Connor said flatly. "Is there a point to this?" 

"I guess I'm trying to say that I'm sorry you can't keep playing with the Aces, but the Falcs aren't a half-bad team." He paused, then blurted, "You and Kent okay?" 

"If we weren't, I wouldn't talk to you about it. We're fine." At least, that's what Connor had thought. Zimms asking about it made him nervous, because Zimms and Kent talked a lot more often than Kent and Whiskey had a chance to. 

"Good. That's good." Zimms nodded, then leaned back against the railing and looked up at the ceiling. "Parties aren't really my scene anymore. I'm taking a breather." 

Connor grunted, because that wasn't surprising, and as long as he kept quiet, Connor wouldn't mind his presence. 

It was only a few minutes before Kent stuck his head out. "Is the real party hiding out in the hallway?" 

"Avoiding the party," Zimms corrected, getting to his feet. "I should get back in there. I barely get to see these guys anymore." He pat Kent on the shoulder as he passed by him to get back in the apartment. 

Kent glanced inside the apartment, then stepped out and closed the door. "Sorry, I didn't mean to ruin your evening. I was trying to do Zimms a favor." 

"Yeah." 

Kent frowned, then kneeled in front of him-- _right_ in front of him, so their legs bumped together. "You okay?" 

"Are _we_? I thought we were till Zimms came out here asking about it. Something you need to tell me?" 

Kent's jaw twitched. "His inability to keep shit to himself has always been a pain in the ass." 

Whiskey let his eyes fall closed. All he'd wanted from this night was to spend as much time with Kent as he could. Instead, he had a whole bunch of people in his apartment and one arm around Kent for an hour or two. 

"It's not like that," Kent said softly, leaning forward and resting their foreheads together. 

"What's it like," Whiskey said, opening his eyes again. 

"We can talk about it later. I'll tell everyone to start heading out soon." If Kent meant for that to be comforting, he failed. 

Connor kind of missed fifteen minutes ago where Jenny was jealous of his perfect picture relationship. Not that it had been perfect for very long, but still. 

Kent left without giving him a kiss, and Connor tried not to think about it. He didn't succeed. He got to his feet and went back in the party though, because he didn't want everyone to step over him when they ended up leaving. 

Whiskey had wanted all of them gone so he could get some quiet and some privacy, but now that he knew there was something worse waiting for him when they were alone. 

Kent smiled and waved and traded some banter to the appropriate parties as they shuffled out, and the smile dropped once the door closed. He didn't turn from the door for a minute, waiting there with his hand splayed out on the door like something horrible was going to happen when he turned around. Eventually though, he had to turn around, and he leaned his back against the door. 

"If you're breaking up with me, just say it. I don't need the drawn out conversation." 

"Ha, no. Not-" Kent rubbed his hands over his face "-not breaking up with you." 

"Then what's the problem?" 

"It turns out that Zimms and his boyfriend aren't together anymore." 

Connor blinked. He really hoped that Kent had more to add than that, because otherwise he got all worked up for nothing. 

"They um. Broke up because they couldn't handle the distance. Grew apart. Zimms didn't feel the need to tell me until after I'd already gotten you to agree to let everyone hang out here, so- y'know, sorry about that. I was trying to help him out because I figured they were like us, and-" Kent blew out a breath. "Sorry." 

"What are you upset about?" Connor asked. Yeah, Kent was sorry about inviting everyone to Whiskey's place, great. That didn't explain this. 

"They were in love, and they broke up because they couldn't handle the distance for so long. Zimms lived in Vegas, and Bitty goes to Samwell." Kent shuffled a little, looking at the floor. "You live... like, forty minutes from Samwell." 

"I don't think me and Zimms switching boyfriends is a solution," Connor said dryly. 

"God, I can't believe I thought _I_ was the asshole in this relationship." Kent jolted when Connor pulled him into a hug. He was stiff for a moment, then relaxed, wrapping his arms tightly around Connor. 

"I may have physically gone somewhere, but you can't get rid of me that easy." 

"Pretty sure Zimms and Bitty had a similar agreement." 

Kent wasn't really letting himself be comforted, and Connor was too tired to try and force him to believe it. Besides, Kent was allowed to be a little insecure with everything he'd had to deal with from Connor in the course of their relationship. "Is there anything I can say to make you feel better?" 

"Probably not," Kent muttered. 

"Does that mean we can go to bed?" 

There were a few shaking breaths, then, "I don't think you're taking this seriously." 

"All the distance means is that we don't get to have sex as often." 

"And we don't get to play together." 

"Don't remind me," Connor said. He missed talking to Kent face to face, and he could honestly say that he didn't ever think he'd miss talking. He let go and started to tug Kent towards the bedroom. 

"I thought the new team was going well?" 

"Not like playing with you." 

* * *

The picture of them kissing outside the rink made it on the news the next day. Connor wondered what the fuck had happened to the other NHL teams that them kissing was trending more than anyone's win. 

Kent told him-- grin wide like he found this hilarious-- that it's because they were big in hockey news and in the queer community that didn't know shit about hockey. "Apparently your undercut was a dead giveaway," he informed him with false solemnity before cracking up. 

Connor had missed his laugh. He hated that he was going to have to miss it again by this time tomorrow. 

* * *

Connor knew that the long distance thing was going to be an issue, for many reasons. The most pressing reason was that Kent was worrying over it. So he took Jenny's advice and texted more. They already called as much as they could work around, but the texts consisted of pretty much every time Whiskey thought of him. 

He brought Jenny shopping to help her get over her latest break up, and he couldn't stop laughing at one of the joke shirts in the men's section. He thought about taking a picture and sending it to Kent, but this was too good to not buy. It was more Kent's sense of humor than his own, but that was what made it so great. He knew the instant Kent got it in the mail.

From Kent: **OH MY GOD**

From Kent: **I HATE YOU**

From Kent: **(I love you but OH MY GOD)**

From Kent: *photo*

He was wearing the shirt in the photo, which was expected. It looked like he'd tried to stop himself from grinning, then given it up as a lost cause before taking the picture. The words on the shirt read: _I masturbate because I'm the only one with low enough standards to fuck me_. 

From Connor: **Not to sound too horny, but I was hoping you'd send me a dick pic.**

It was kind of the main reason he'd sent it. He'd known that Kent would enjoy it, yes, but he'd gotten used to them having sex all the time. It's not like he was incapable of thinking about anything else, but he still missed it. If texts and dirty talk through the phone were the best he could get, then he'd ask for it when he wanted it. He wasn't used to being this bold, but Kent didn't seem to mind. 

From Kent: **You failed. That sounded real fucking horny babe.**

From Connor: **I'm not seeing any pics man.**

From Kent: **So needy** ❤️

From Kent: *photo*

* * *

Whiskey didn't know if this was a response to the shirt he'd sent Kent, or if this was a completely separate thought that Kent had. Either way, Connor got a package in the mail that he didn't order, and when he opened it, he saw a dildo. 

He snorted and pulled out the packing material, then saw the little note that had been sent. 

_Pics or it didn't happen ;) Love, Kent_

It was one of those styles that didn't try to be anatomically correct. Bright purple, massive, curved, and with vibration settings on the bottom. Whiskey took a picture of it in his hand after he took it out of the packaging and sent it to Kent. 

From Connor: **Pretty sure this isn't what your dick looks like.**

It took a little while for him to answer, and Connor wondered if Kent was really going to ask for pictures of it up his ass. He wasn't against the idea in theory (he used to be, but being in a long distance relationship had given him some perspective on that), but he didn't know how the hell he was supposed to get the angle on that. His arm could only curve so much. 

From Kent: **Not the kind of pic I meant and you know it**

From Kent: **But like you can have my actual dick when I come to visit. Why would I send you a replica?**

From Connor: **I've heard people do that.**

From Kent: **Is that what you want???? I'm not making any promises babe**

From Connor: **Nope. Just pointing it out.**

From Kent: **Pics of you with it? On it? Please? Because you love me?**

Whiskey sighed even though he didn't mind, and there was no one here that he needed to pretend for. 

A while later-- twenty minutes and finding some batteries later-- he managed to get a picture for Kent. The only way he could really get it to work was if he got up on the counter in his bathroom and took a photo from the mirror. 

If someone had told Whiskey three years ago that he'd be taking pictures of himself on a dildo to send to his boyfriend, he would've thought they were lying. 

* * *

"I can't believe you haven't shaved yet," Connor said, him on top of Kent and Kit on top of him so that Kent was well and truly stuck on the couch. 

"If that's your way of saying you hate the playoff beard, babe, you can rest easy," Kent said with a snort. "It'll be gone sometime tomorrow. I don't remember you hating this so much last year. Or any of the years before. Except for your rookie year," he added thoughtfully. "You couldn't grow one back then and you were pissed off at just about everything." 

"I wasn't that bad," Connor said, but he knew that he had been. He hadn't been angry about _specifically_ his inability to grow a beard for the playoffs, but he'd been so stressed that anger was pretty much his resting mood. "And we were on the same team then, it didn't count. How's Zimms taking the loss?" 

"Best as anyone can," Kent said, even though he'd been pretty damn happy about getting a kick-start on the summer with Connor. The Falcs had gotten kicked out the round before the Aces, so Connor had been at the rest of his games, but it wasn't the same as the off-season. "He's thinking about buying a place in Vegas, but I don't think he'd ever be able to live somewhere this hot." 

Kit stretched, and her claws went right through Connor's shirt. He winced, but she took her sweet time retracting her claws and jumping off. "Yeah," Connor said, not really sure what the last thing Kent had said was. "I was thinking about trading to one of California's teams in a couple years." 

"Yeah?" Kent said, shifting one arm to drape across Whiskey's back now that Kit was gone. 

"Not sure yet, but it's closer to Vegas." 

"Same conference too," Kent noted. "That'd be nice. Not as good as having you on the same team, obviously, but-" he blew out a breath "-I guess that's not really possible anymore." 

"You guess?" 

"It makes me feel like I'm more in control, fuck off." Kent wiggled under him a little bit, then said, "How do you feel about another cat?" 

"That's like having a kid for gay couples." 

"It- what? Whiskey have you been smoking something while I'm not paying attention?" Kent asked, laughing. 

"Getting pets together is a big deal." 

"We already live together, and we keep talking like we never plan on breaking up. Comparatively, getting a pet together means nothing. Especially since we already have Kit. What's one more cat?" 

"Twice as much responsibility." Then, to make sure that Kent knew he was joking, he said, "You'll resent me for never being around for them. You're going to be a single parent." 

"Our children will be half raised by me, half by nannies, and they'll see their other father once in a blue moon. What a tragic life they'll have. They'll get older and write memoirs about the muted horrors of having famous parents." 

"Tragic," Connor agreed. 

"Is that a yes? I was thinking about naming her Purrs." 

"Did you pick her up already?" 

"I would never." 

"You know which one she is." 

"...Yes." 

Connor sighed, then carefully pushed himself up. "Alright, let's go to the shelter." 

Kent beamed. "See, this is why I love you." 

"For better or worse," Connor muttered, and Kent kissed him. 

"You make my life better, and I'm here for when your's goes worse. So yeah, for better or worse, and you gotta deal with it. Asshole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shirt Whiskey buys Kent is based off fanart someone did of Kent in that shirt   
> EDIT: Someone managed to find the art! You can find it here https://plz2daysatan.tumblr.com/post/630956891422539776/littlestpersimmon-kent-and-swoops-why-doesnt
> 
> And that's a wrap! This is probably the longest fic I've written, which is hilarious to me since it's not like I planned for this to happen


End file.
